Written in Stone
by FisherofMen
Summary: Sam has changed and not entirely for the better. With their dad still missing, Dean is at a loss of what to do as his brother's condition deteriorates. Little does he know that a lot more than just his brother is going down. weak!hurt!Sam protective!worried!Dean
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I came up with this while lying in bed one night... Yeah, whatever. This is an AU story, so... yeah... I posted this on tumblr if you do that sort of thing. *highfives if you do***

**Rated T for blood or violence or whatever in future chapters.**

**THIS TAKES PLACE IN SEASON 1 A LITTLE AFTER 'SHADOW'**

000 3rd Person

Sam was acting weird.

Well, weider than usual. Sam had always had a weird element with that chewbacca hair; that strange obsession with books and research; that big head of his that spews random facts that no one really cares about. Dean had, for the most part, prepared for his brother's random acts of weirdness. When he wakes up to Sam clicking around on his computer, dark rings under his eyes and skin pale, the signs of a rough night weighing on his shoulders. When Sam announces that he'd rather have a salad instead of a burger at Mcdonalds. When Sam has a Jessica moment and says he needs some air and disappears for about an hour, wondering around whatever town they deemed suitable.

But praying? That had thrown Dean for a loop. He knew his brother had been acting weird ever since Chicago, with the even more strange sleep patterns, eating amounts that would leave a squirrel hungry, phone calls when he thought Dean couldn't hear, spontaneous headaches without visions. But Dean had only recently noticed the praying. Like, the whole package. Before meals, in the morning, before going to sleep, sometimes at random hours of the day. Sam didn't even seem to care when Dean gave him an odd look, teeth already sinking into his cheeseburger, and ate without pausing.

Dean always figured if there was a God, he sure didn't care about them. And why pray before you eat? It's not like God payed hard-earned money for it. But if it helped Sam sleep better at night, then so be it. God knew, pun intended, he needed it.

Dean glanced over to his dozing brother in the passenger seat, trying to spot those fluttering eyelids under the fringe of hair that always got in the way. Sam didn't sleep much, but when he did, it was usually in the Impala. Dean patted the steering wheel.

_Knew he'd come around, girl._

Small ovals of water pattered onto the windshield, dropping from the blanket of dull gray in the sky. The rain already glittered off the pine trees surrounding the road when Dean reached over and flipped on the windshield wipers. The soft hum of rubber against glass joined the chorus of _pit patters_ in the car, jolting his younger brother to awareness. He glanced over again.

"Get enough beauty sleep, princess?" His gaze returned to the road.

"Shut up," came a mumbled reply from the straightening form to his right. "Where are we?"

"Almost to Newhalem. Got a full two hours of shut-eye there, Samantha." Dean gave his brother a sideways glance and winked. The geek just shook his shaggy head.

Sam found a job in the North Cascades National Park when they had been hunting a ghost in a small town in Oregon. Reports of a large animal similar to a bear, but quicker, easily linked to seven grizzly deaths in under two weeks. The victims were all within a ten mile radius of the Colonial Creek campgrounds, camping or hiking when the death took place. The bodies were mauled by what seemed to be an animal, but much more gruesome than your average bear attack. Sam's bet was a berserker and Dean didn't disagree. It was either that, or a really messed up bear.

They had found a relatively new article about kids randomly getting sick and going into comas in Wisconsin, but a more recent one reported they all simultaneously healed at the same time a doctor also disappeared. Dean suggested looking into the doctor's disappearance, but Sam disagreed and dove into a search for another case. It didn't take long to notice the strange animal attacks.

The green sign read six miles to Newhalem and then they had a ways to go until the campground, but the day was still young.

"You hungry?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

He caught the movement of Sam's shaking head out of the corner of his eye. "... But we can stop if you're hungry."

"Dude, you need to eat. I already let you skip breakfast and-"

"You '_let me'_? Dean, that was my decision, not yours. You didn't _'let'_ me do anything."

Dean sighed and gripped the wheel tighter. He had too many questions for his brother since Chicago. Ones that Sam never answered or claimed to not even know the answers to. Like, how did Sam guess that that Meg girl was a demon? She was a little strange, yeah, but not exactly giving off any demonic vibes. Sam just suggested it and found her hideout in under an hour. Dean appreciated the extra time to trash her altar, draw a demon trap, exercise her and escape with minimal wounds, but really? How did Sam swing _that_ lucky guess? And Dean had barely managed a half hour of research before Sam mentioned the possibility of a daeva. Dean didn't know what that was, even with his extra years on Sam; how did he hear about it?

After the not-possessed Meg practically fell to pieces into Sam's arms, they headed back to their room to find their dad waiting for them. Dean gave their dad a brief embrace and Sam just bolted forward and drowned John with his octopus arms and gripped him like he was a lifeline. Dean felt relief that Sam had warmed up so quickly, but also surprise. He knew Sam wanted to find their dad, but Sam hadn't hugged their dad like that in years.

Only a few minutes later, Sam surprised Dean again by insisting their dad hightail it out of there because 'dad was stronger without them around'. That dad focused on their cases better without the distraction of protecting his sons. Yeah, that made perfect sense. Because dad didn't worry about them enough when he was halfway across the country, not there to even see if they're okay.

Since then, Sam's condition had deteriorated. Less eating, less sleeping, more headaches, more praying. All of which had unexplained causes.

"Then at least tell me why, Sam. What's up with you?" Dean looked over to his brother, his brows creased, hoping to convey his concern with his eyes. Sam glued his gaze to the passing evergreens.

"Dean..." Exasperated.

"Sammy, come on." He sighed again. "Is... Is this about Jessica?" Sam flinched and shifted in his seat. "Is this about Dad? Did you have a vision you're not telling me about? Did one of your college buddies call?"

"No, Dean..." He felt Sam's eyes on him.

"Then what, Sam?" he barked, his tone harsher than he'd expected. But he wasn't going to apologize. No way. Sam needed to get whatever this was out in the open and get out of his funk before he hurt himself.

000

Sam exhaled slowly through his nose and leaned his head against the cool window, hoping to dim the throbbing in his ears.

Dean wasn't stupid and Sam knew he'd be doing the same thing if their roles were reversed. He had, in fact. Well, would... might... He brought his hand to his forehead and rubbed the space between his eyes. Trying to find the right tense to explain a situation from his vision got harder each time he tried. Wait, no, it wasn't a vision... was it? It didn't leave him with even the slightest of a headache when he had it, but it sure seemed like a vision when the case in Chicago showed up a few days after he'd dreamt about it along with much more scenes he'd rather not have seen. He rubbed harder when the pain escalated.

_Stop thinking about it, you freak._ He winced at his own description of himself. But that's what he was, wasn't he? Dean called him a freak off-handedly all the time, but he had no idea the gravity behind the words now. Sam didn't blame him, though. He didn't want Dean to know.

_'I've got demon blood in me, Dean! This disease pumping through my veins! And I can't ever rip it out or scrub it clean! I'm a whole new level of freak!'_

A new, but familiar pain laced through his skull, pulling his eyelids down.

"I'll eat the food, alright?"

"Sam..." Of course he wanted more answers. Sam would.

"Just... don't blame me if I hurl in your car." He tried for humor, a small smile tugging at his lips. He heard Dean sigh, but there was no heat behind it.

"Yeah, whatever." He could hear the smile in Dean's voice.

000

The taco tasted stale in his mouth and he knew he should have gotten something easier to start with. His mind wandered - like it did a lot those days - and he'd just ordered whatever Dean got. Freakin' tacos.

Tacos had killed Dean once. Food poisoning or something.

_'These tacos taste funny to you?'_

Nausea rolled in his stomach and he forced himself to swallow the gag down before taking another bite.

Turns out there was nothing 'funny' about food poisoning at all. Dean had spent the next couple hours writhing as his stomach turned itself inside-out before the day reset.

Sam sprang from his seat and sprinted to the bathroom, giving the man he almost trampled a quick apology before disappearing behind the narrow door. The meager contents of his stomach reappeared just as quickly as they'd gone down. Which wasn't very fast, as it turned out. He spent the next several minutes over the toilet bowl before gagging turned to dry heaving.

_'Y'know there's a really good hangover remedy. It's, uh, a greasy pork sandwich served up in a dirty ashtray.'_

The throb in his head turned up a notch, halting his abdomen spasms. He wiped a sweaty hand down his face and leaned back against the door. The soft knock that vibrated the wood and sent another wave up pain up his neck and through his brain.

"Sammy? You okay?" The voice sounded too small. Too hesitant; like he was worried he'd break Sam if he spoke too loud.

"Yeah, yeah... Just give me a minute..." A few shuffled steps brought him too the small, stained sink. The freezing water cleaned his hands and dulled his headache when he splashed his face with it.

"I did. You've been in there for, like, twenty minutes, Sam."

Sam pulled out his phone and glanced at the small glowing screen, squinting until the blurred symbols sharpened. "Ten minutes."

"What?" He could hear his brother's head shift against the door.

"It's been ten minutes," he groaned.

"Yeah, like that's so much better than twenty."

Sam assumed Dean left when a peaceful silence followed. He rinsed his mouth a few times.

"Look, I'll, uh, get you somethin' else."

He pulled a paper towel from the box on the wall and patted his face with it. His hand shook when he lifted it to grab the doorknob. With gritted teeth, he force it to steady before leaving the stuffy atmosphere of the restroom. The remaining flip-flops in his gut couldn't help but settle when he spotted the worried, but bright face that greeted him.

"Good thing this place is one of those gas station, souvenir shop, cafe things. I, uh, got you some applesauce. And some Sprite and fruit juice." Dean lifted the small plastic bag in his hand then jabbed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the parking lot. "You ready to hit the road?"

Sam nodded and gave his brother a smile that he was sure didn't quite reach his eyes. But he hoped the message was clear.

_Thanks._

Dean turned and, with a steady hand between his shoulder blades, ushered him towards the exit. _Shut up._

_You wish._

_Yes, I do._

_No you don't._

000

Dean reached forward and turned the music down to a low rumble, hoping to keep his sleeping brother a sleeping brother for as long as he could. The kid spent the first hour reading, although Dean bet he couldn't focus on half the words, and finally tossed dad's journal onto the dash. Then he messed around with the applesauce, stirring it more than eating it, but he eventually got it down... after another hour. He figured Sam did it more to reassure him, though. After downing a water bottle, he nestled into the seat and watched the scenery for a while, that big head of his running a marathon, before he dozed off.

He tapped his finger on the steering wheel, letting his own mind wander. The air felt too cold. But Dean knew turning the heat on wouldn't warm up the cold that settled in his chest. What the heck was Sam doing? He glanced over to the sleeping form, breathing in sync to the soft snoring.

He'd said as long as he was around, he wasn't going to let anything bad happen to Sam... How was he supposed to help him if he didn't even know what was going on? He slammed his palm against the top of the wheel. Why couldn't the kid just tell him what was going on?

The body pressed against the door shifted, a breathy voice muffled by a coat collar carrying over to Dean. He swore.

One of the top things he hated about Sam's new behavior was the nightmares. Sam's vocabulary had widened passed mutters and yells for Jess, spreading to the occasional 'Dean' and 'dad'. Occasional was shifting to common.

"Sammy, come on, wake up," he muttered, glancing over to his unconscious brother. Said brother didn't comply, instead, worry lines creased between his eyes and on his forehead, his whole body tensing. Another strained whisper painted fog on the window. "Sammy?"

Sam's back arched off the seat and a pained sound passed through his gritted teeth. Dean cursed and swerved to the shoulder. He was out of the car and over to the passenger side in a few long seconds. The door wrenched open and he knelt down onto the asphalt, gripping his brother's too-boney shoulders. He'd probably lost around ten pounds since Chicago.

"Sammy, come on!"

The glassy hazel eyes shot open at the same time as long arms shoved Dean onto his backside. He darted to his feet to see Sam already next to the trunk, pacing and panting loudly.

"Sam," he groaned and stalked over, trying to use the same tone their dad used when getting their attention. Sam paused, his head swiveling to find the source of the voice. The glazed look slipped as his eyes focused on the concerned green ones of his older brother.

"Dean?" Hollow. Empty. Broken. Never was his brother supposed to ever sound like that. Never. Dean grabbed the heaving shoulders and tried to steady the growing shivers.

"Yeah, it's me, Sammy," he soothed, trying to catch the gaze that fluttered away. "Sammy? Sam, look at me." He grabbed the nape of Sam's neck and gently maneuvered his head to face his. "You're fine, Sam. You're okay. Everything's okay." _You only wish._

"Dean?" A little more hopeful than before, but still just as desperate.

"Yeah, Sam."

The dull eyes suddenly dampened and the sweaty face twisted into anguish. Dean felt the already fast pulse speed up underneath his thumb and felt the hot, too quick breaths in his face. But the look disappeared as soon as it came, being shoved down with the swallow that bobbed Sam's adam's apple. He blinked a few times and nodded repeatedly.

"Deep breaths, Sam. Come on, breathe." He squeezed his hand around the strained neck, working the knots out. "You're okay."

"I-I... I need a walk." Sam ducked out of Dean's grip, swaying slightly without the support, and started off down the street.

It was at least forty degrees and raining ice water.

Dean didn't miss the use of words, though. 'Need'. By the way Sam's skin was sticky with sweat and his breathing still labored, Dean didn't disagree. But it was still freakin' cold. He burrowed deeper into his coat and shoved his hands into his pockets before following his brother.

It didn't take him long before he caught up with Sam's unsteady pace. He blinked against the cold raindrops bombarding his face and glanced to the side. The haunted look hadn't left Sam's eyes and his breathing, although still heavy, wasn't as erratic anymore. Dean reached over and slung Sam's hood up.

After a few minutes of walking, Dean making sure they weren't too far from the car, Sam's breathing finally lightened and his shoulders drooped without the constant tension.

"You good?" Dean almost whispered, hoping the answer was 'yes'. They were gonna freeze otherwise. The jerky nod in reply sent a few warm tremors through his spine. He patted Sam on the shoulder and herded him back towards the car.

By the time he slid into the driver's seat, his muscles had grown stiff from the cold and he had to keep wiping his nose to keep it from leaking onto himself. The sun had already sunk behind the mountains. Dean cursed when he felt almost no temperature change when they both got seated.

_Should've had the heat on, idiot._

He put the heat on full blast and worked the kinks out of his knuckles. Still no movement to his right. He paused. Then aimed most of the vents in his brother's direction before continuing to gradually work his own body heat up. A hot pot of chicken noodle soup really sounded great. He rubbed his hands together and imagined the broth warming his insides.

"You sure you're good? You're not gonna pass out on me or anything?" He hunched forward in his seat and rested his left arm over the steering wheel, turning to face Sam.

000

_Don't look, don't look, don't look..._ The mantra kept repeating itself in Sam's head, engraving the words to his brain. _Do. Not. Look._ If he did, he'd see the same glazed dead eyes staring back at him; the red dots of blood around them that spattered there from the shredded skin halfway underneath a gray shirt. If he listened, all he'd hear was agonized yells as someone got torn to ribbons by invisible damned wolves.

_Sam?_

Shudders racked his body and wavered his breaths to uneven shallow gulps. The beckoning voice was shoved down into a place where it couldn't be heard. Pain shot through his skull like electricity, jolting down his neck and around his shoulders.

Dean was an idiot. Smart-mouthing to a elite demon who wanted him dead; who had the things meant to kill him. Dean was an idiot for selling his soul for his stupid little brother who stood back and did nothing while he was ripped to pieces. Dean was an idiot for trusting his stupid little brother who didn't find a way to save him before or after his time closed. Dean was an idiot for caring about his stupid little brother who didn't have enough sense to protect himself from a freakin' knife and ended up betraying and almost killing him and drinking demon blood and starting the apocalypse and not looking for him when he was sent to purgatory. His stupid little brother who saved the world but couldn't save his brother. His stupid little brother who started their family's hell. If he wasn't born, their mom might still be alive, their dad wouldn't go to hell for saving his son, Dean wouldn't break under the weight of the loss, Jessica Moore would be safe from the Winchester's curse and the world wouldn't end and Lucifer wouldn't be let out and who knows, with his luck, maybe even God would have given the world another chance.

_God... Don't leave. Don't leave my brother alone. If for not for me, do it for him._

An invisible hand squeezed his throat. His eyes felt dry. He squeezed them shut.

_Sam!_

Something firm but still gentle wrapped around his left shoulder and then landed on his face. Even though he knew it was cold, it felt warm against the chilled skin on his forehead. He shivered.

_Sammy, come on. Open your eyes for me._

He frowned and shied away from the thing that patted his face, sliding his eyelids up to see... something. A dark shape? To his... left. It was closer than he normally liked, but something about it dulled the pain pulsing through his veins.

"Attaboy, Sam. Now I want you to look at me. Can you look at me?"

Slowly but surely, he complied and tried to focus on the source of the voice. It muttered something and... then it disappeared. The reassuring presence disappeared, leaving him feeling exposed. The loud thumping in his head quickened.

Then there were hands on him again, lifting him and moving him somewhere. He suddenly felt cold and trembled against it. And then he was floating until something solid but comfortable cradled his legs and then his side. He was... horizontal... And then warm.

As he drifted off, he felt a hand on his chest and caught a few words from a familiar voice.

_... breathe... Sammy... okay..._

000

_'Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning: I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam, a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.'_

The words shot electricity through his body, waking his soft heartbeats to unsteady morse code. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dim backseat interior of the impala. The blanket and his coat covering his upper body felt stifling and he shoved them off before sitting up. His head felt more like a boulder than a brain case.

With a groan, he cautiously opened the car door and eased out onto his feet. Black splotches danced around his vision with each thundering heartbeat that sent blood rushing from his face. _Demon blood._ The cool roof of the car grounded him through the wave of vertigo until he could notice the small tent a few feet away. And the quiet snoring from inside. He smirked.

Screw yesterday. Screw the future. Dean and him needed some comic relief every now and then. With little grace, he leaned down, almost hitting his forehead on the rim, and snaked an arm between the seats to grab one of the water bottles nestled there. As he unscrewed the white cap, he moved over with jelly legs to the tent and started unzipping the door.

_Might as well be firing a cannon,_ he thought as the low hum of the zipper broke through the crisp morning air. When he was sure his brother didn't stir, he finished opening it until the gap was big enough to squeeze through. His sneakers rustled against the tent floor and Dean's snoring ceased. He froze.

Something akin to a snort caught in his older brother's throat and the snoring continued. Sam tiptoed across the small room until he stood over the form wrapped in a sleeping bag. Casting a glance to the door to ensure a quick escape if needed, he tipped the bottle until the water poured in a smooth stream.

The night-cooled water worked its magic on his brother who woke immediately, sputtering and swinging his knife at the empty air until the bottle was empty. Sam, who had already stepped back, chuckled until a real laugh found its way from his loosening chest.

"Rise and shine." The words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them, lodging a stone in his throat.

"Wh-what the hell? _Sam?_" Dean dropped himself back down against his now soaked pillow and threw an arm over his face. "I hate you."

So they were quoting eachother now? He tried to paste the smile back on his face. It felt more like a grimace.

"Sure you do," he managed and twisted the bottle cap back on.

"You scared the living crap outta me!" Dean pushed himself up until he was halfway sitting. Sam snorted._ 'Living crap'._ He got the feeling Dean wasn't only talking about the water, though. Dean glanced at the knife still gripped in his hand. "I could've stabbed you, man!"

"Dude, you should have seen your face! Getting a little rusty, there, though. Didn't even get close to hitting me." He tossed the water container onto Dean's lap and shivered, realizing he left his coat in the car.

"Whatever." He sat up fully and chucked the bottle at Sam, who snatched it out of the air before it could flutter pitifully to the ground. "You ready to gank us an overgrown bear, Sammy?" His face lit up as he wavered to his feet.

"It's technically closer to a wolf, but-"

"Shut up."

Sam smiled.

000

**A/N: Okay, so tell me what you thought. ****Do you have a theory as to why Sam is acting the way he is? If I didn't make it obvious enough (not too obvious, tho), I'll do some more editing. Did I keep their character voice similar to the show, or do they sound out of character? I'm hoping to keep this story going into season 2 and even longer if I can, so you can expect to see John in future chapters!**

**Chao, friends! Leave a review! ;) (Seriously. They help tremendously! 3)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Chapter 2! Finally got it finished. :P Enjoy! Some slightly hurt boys in this chapter, but not too bad. Can't wait to have them wrap up this case to move onto the elephant in the room, so to speak. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural... unfortunately...**

000 1st Person (Dean)

"I hate camping," Sam breathed, swiping at a group of mosquitoes buzzing around his head and landing in his hair. I stopped and pulled my gaze from the steep incline ahead to look at my brother.

"Dude, you haven't even gotten to the _camping_ part yet and you're already complaining about it?" Six pebbles tumbled between my feet, soon to meet Sam's a few paces further down. "And if you haven't noticed, this isn't exactly a picnic for me, either," I added and shuffled closer to a boulder to brace myself against. Freakin' heights.

"S'not my fault... you didn't want to find the... the thing on an _already made_ trail. Y'know... professionals make these things for a reason." Sam's breathing hitched as the ground shifted under their weight, drawing my gaze again. Stupid kid kept doing that, reminding me of the episode the day before that I would much rather forget.

"The two witnesses both said that whatever attacked the vics came from the west of the Thunder Whatever trail, so that's where we're goin'." I pushed myself over the rock and took another deep breath of the thin mountain air. God knew how hard of a time Sammy was having. Losing weight that fast had to do a number on you when exercising. I raised a hand and leaned against the side of the shallow ravine we were climbing through. "Alright, alright..." I huffed. "Break time." Sam nodded and went slack next to me. I shook my head wearily.

I slung my backpack around my shoulder and dug a water bottle out, holding it out to Sam. He took it and swallowed a few gulps.

"Look," he gasped, his breath only slightly visible as he gestured up towards the crest of the mountain. "We can't go too far, Dean... We don't have the equipment."

"Yeah..." It had gotten strangely quiet for the last five minutes and I had wondered if it was because we were getting close, but further hiking had proven differently. Unless we veered off to the left or to the right to find the berserker's hangout. I glanced northwest and nodded in the direction. "We'll start headin' that way, then. Can't be too much farther, Sammy." I didn't fail to notice how Sam kept shivering when the breeze blew as I patted a hand against his shoulder. My sawed-off shotgun felt chilled underneath my fingers.

Sam pushed himself off the rock, pitching forward slightly as he blanched. I shot my hand out to grab hold of him only to have him shrug out of my grip.

"M'fine," came the muffled reply.

"Like hell you are," I muttered and quickly pursued. "Sam, we can stop; we've been climbing all morning." I gripped an indent in the rocks and heaved myself out of the ravine, twisting back to help Sam up. Through Sam's defiant gaze, I finally managed to heft the brat up and onto slightly more level ground. "You've done good, Spiderman, now give it a rest."

Sam scowled but leaned against a tree to catch his breath. "Shut... up..." I shrugged.

"You got your silver bullets ready?" I suggested and found the nearest tree to settle against. It was Sam's turn to shrug.

"Silver knife. The legend says that blunt objects may work, too, so I brought our, uh... b'seb'at..." By the way Sam shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around, I figured it wasn't something I was going to like. I coughed a laugh and hunched forward.

"Our what?"

"Our... baseball bat."

I frowned. Okay, I wasn't expecting that, but the only reason I remembered we even had one was because of the last round of weapon organizing we'd had a month ago. The only reason I hadn't tossed it was for memory's sake. A eight-year-old Sammy had found an interesting time consumer on the road, finding baseball games on TV at almost every hotel stop we made. He could sit glued to them for hours on end. Guess it was enough of a clue for dad and I to pick up a baseball glove, bat and mit at the nearest Walmart for the next Christmas. The old metal club had barely been used, though, since you can't exactly have bases in a hotel room, less than hit a ball around. Not that much later, the kid had dropped the baseball fangirling and found other things to do, but the bat still served as a reminder of their more or less innocent childhood.

I finally nodded my head and glanced at the object in Sam's hand, surprised I hadn't even noticed him carrying it. Trying not to start a rockslide can muddle your senses, I guess.

"'May work'? That isn't exactly helpful when you're facing off the Godzilla of bea- er- wolves, excuse me."

Sam rolled his eyes and straightened against the tree-bark. "That's actually the only way possible to kill it, according to wikipedia." I grimaced.

"Yeah, well, when I checked-"

"You read over my shoulder."

"- and wikipedia didn't describe our kind of berserkers. Weird viking guys that Hulk out or something," I replied, giving him a skeptical look.

"They're actually-"

"Yeah, yeah," I dismissed with a wave before meeting his eyes again. "Besides. Dad always killed them with silver and it's the one thing we know works." Sam shrugged again.

"Wouldn't hurt to find a new way to kill them. It's not like everyone carries spare silver around." Sam raised his eyebrows with an inclination of his head. I gave him a dry look.

"Whatever. Rest time's over." I only said it half-heartedly, though, keeping a sharp eye on Sam as he straightened back to his full height, all six foot four of geek, and continued on.

"Dude," an accusing tone as Sam came to a halt. I stopped, frowning at him as he turned around. "Stop staring; I'm fine." Another dry look from me to Sammy. Kid's making me use that expression a little too much. That was his thing, not mine.

"Sure, Sam. It's not like you haven't had a full meal for weeks. Or had a decent night's sleep in, what, _months_?" Just when I was sure Sam's nightmares were getting better, they spiraled out of control and became a regular nightly disturbance. My eyebrows lowered as Sam's countenance did.

"Dean..."

"Not now, Sam," I hushed, glancing around as the few chirping birds disappeared altogether. He made a 'pfft' noise behind me.

"You brought it up," he mumbled. I swiped a hand through the air to silence him. Either he finally listened to me, not likely, or he noticed the change in temperature and sound, too, because he finally shut up. I shot a glance over my shoulder and jerked my head to the right. He nodded and we started moving through the forest as one, stopping when the hissing wind did and moving when it muted our footsteps.

"Dean!" was the only warning I got before something hard shoved me to the side and into a tree trunk. Dazed, I slid down its trunk and blinked away the sudden dizziness.

_Crap. _

Apparently it was Sam who'd done the shoving just before a furry creature came and introduced a second tree to a second Winchester. Except this thing pushed Sam with a paw the size of his head and claws as longer than the worn out pencil he always scribbled in his journal with.

With a determined growl that sounded too much like an animal, I aimed my shotgun between its piercing blood-red eyes and fired... just as another something big and black and hairy rammed into my stomach, knocking the air out of me as we both went down. I gritted my teeth against its weight and fired another round in its chest. A howl of pain expressed its fury. It reared back, swiping at my legs as it stumbled backwards. I bit off my own grunt of pain as its claws dug into my knee, trailing down to my shin before it flopped down and grew still.

A pained gasp drew my attention back to the other threat and the person it threatened. The first berserker basically stood on top of Sam, most of its heavy weight pressing against Sam's thin torso. Frail was never a word I wanted to associate with Sam. Its thick right paw kept Sam from reaching the knife on his hip. His eyes were wide with panic, as was his mouth as he tried to draw in a breath.

I couldn't help but let a little relief show when I noticed the beast's attention was on me instead of my brother, its gaze flashing between its dead partner and the gun gripped in my hands. Oh yeah. Intelligent creatures. But it seemed content to stand there on Sam, sensing a the threat. _Yeah, holding still isn't gonna help you avoid that, pal. _

With a few quick movements, I reloaded and fired another silver round, thankfully hitting my target this time. Except the thing pretty much died instantly. Crumbling on top of Sam. I swore and rushed forward before he could even respond to more crushing weight dropped on him.

"Sam!" I grunted and strained to lift more than shove the thing off of him to avoid possible internal injury. If there wasn't any already... Crap, this thing was heavy. "_Sam!"_ I heaved, all the air leaving my lungs as it finally gave, sliding over to the side. Sam inhaled quickly and deeply, then curled into himself, rolling onto his right side. "Sam?" My hands hovered over him uncertainly before going to his head to brush those stupid bangs from his face. "Sammy?"

Eyes squeezed shut, he nodded and lifted a shaky hand to give me an 'okay' sign. "Sure you are. You're just dandy these days."He wheezed out a few more breaths before opening his muddy green eyes to look at me. A cough found its way out of his mouth, making him cringe again and curl a little more into himself before I could calm him.

"... Ow..." I rolled my eyes and grabbed his wrists, trying to pry his long limbs away from his chest.

"No duh, Sherlock," I retorted, frowning when he wouldn't comply. "Sam, I need to see, okay? We don't know how bad it is and, in case you've forgotten, we're on a freakin' mountain." He blinked up at me. Then his gaze slowly slid away to glance around us. He nodded and gingerly uncurled himself onto his back. Breathing returned to short gasps as his muscles stretched over his torso.

I pulled his coat to the side and gazed at his upper body with a careful eye, taking note of the smear of blood on his right side and the way he kept wincing with each inhale. I reached forward to examine the gash, only finding shallow gouges from the berserker's claws, it looked like, but each touch made my brother cringe. With careful hands, I felt up and down his chest for breaks, hating how easily I could feel the bones underneath. Surprisingly, I found none, but by the way he kept breathing, I figured several fractured ribs, most likely around the claw marks from the blow. I sighed and leaned back on my ankles.

"You feel like anything's broken? Any internal injuries?" He shook his head quickly. "You sure?" A nod. I sighed again. "Okay, c'mon, Gidantor. Let's get a move on."

I didn't want to think about the return trip, but of course, I had too. Sam was already having a hard enough time on the trip up due to the long trek and his weight loss. Can't imagine how it was going to be for him on the way down.

Carefully, I helped him sit up, then wrapped an arm around his shoulders to haul him to his feet. His jaw clenched, but he managed not to groan from the movement.

"Well," he breathed. "That was... an easy... kill..." For a moment, I just stared at him, then gave him an incredulous look with a scoff.

"Easy, huh? You practically got pancaked by Papa Bear, back there. Guess he got tired of porridge." I snickered and I didn't have to look to see his eyes rolling.

"We killed 'em... faster than... normal. And we didn't even... have to research... that much." The end of his sentence was rushed as we moved over a fallen log, his panting quickening. I felt his body stiffen next to mine when we reached the other side.

"Easy, easy." A nod was his only response before he took another step, urging me to do the same. I did. "Dude, 'blunt object'? That baseball bat didn't do squat."

"S'hard to swing it... when I'm busy... saving your-"

"Shut up."

He laughed, buckling forward from the effort. I placed a hand on his chest and halted, waiting for the pain to pass.

"Jerk... Don't make me laugh," he rasped.

"Hey, I didn't think it was funny."

He swatted at my hand, which I pulled back, and tentatively straightened back up. We started back down the decline.

000

By the time we reached the bottom, Sam kept pitching forward, eyes fluttering and mouth open to breathe easier, each thick inhale pulling a wince to crease his forehead. A slight drizzle had adorned his eyelashes with flecks of water, but he didn't seem to notice. His face was pale, well, paler than usual, except for the flush of pink that had gathered at his cheeks from the exertion of climbing down a freakin' mountain with too little weight and several too many fractured ribs.

"Alright, easy, dude," I soothed through a painful breath of my own. We had to take a detour, a much rougher but faster detour, to get back to the campgrounds, cutting through more forest to get back instead of taking the trail. The quicker Sam could take it easy, the better. When we finally spotted the campsite, my shoulders that I didn't even realize where so tense, relaxed. I patted the back of his neck and squeezed. "We made it."

Glancing around to make sure we hadn't gained too much unwanted attention, we both, me more than Sam, ducked into the tent. Sam more like almost face-planted to the tent floor.

"Whoa, whoa, Sammy. Take it easy. Don't wanna head injury to add to the mix." I lowered him the best I could, the giant, onto his sleeping bag. He practically melted into the padding and curled onto his side, the ugly but shallow gashes facing up towards me this time. "How you feelin'?" Dumb question. Sam sighed against the fabric by his face and peered through halfway shut eyelids in what I assumed was a glare.

"How d'ya think?" he slurred and closed his eyes again. Yeah, dumb question.

"Well, I need to check those cuts before you conk out. Didn't exactly get a good look at them before."

That woke him up. His eyes shot open and he started, bolting up into a sitting position. _Bad idea, little brother._ The pained gasp caught in his throat as he curled his body forward until his head pressed against his rising knees. He sucked in a strained breath and let it out with a groan.

"... rib injuries suck..."

I shook my head, suppressing a chuckle, and knelt beside him. A dull pain throbbed in my leg as I clasped a hand around his shoulder.

"Yeah, they do," was all I could come up with. He sighed and shook his head against his knees.

"I'm fine. The berserker barely cut me... it just stings a little..." The voice was muffled by denim, but I heard clearly the stubbornness behind it.

"Then it shouldn't hurt to check." I reached for his worse side, only to have him arch away from my hand. His body stiffened from the movement. "Cut the crap and lemme see." Come to think of it, I hadn't even seen anything under those stupid t-shirts of his for a long time. Not that I paticularly wanted to and he hadn't had many severe upper body injuries as of late, but Sam had never been the type to freak out over leaving his clothes outside the bathroom when he took a shower. He wasn't _that_ modest. With a sigh, I wiped a hand down my face.

_More secrets? How many you got in there, Sammy?_ I put my hand on his shoulder again, tugging gently.

"Knock it off or I'll knock it off for you." Lame threat. Even Sam made a noise that sounded close to a huffed laugh. "C'mon, kiddo. I've checked you over for worse."

Maybe it was exhaustion or submission, I didn't know, but Sam moved his head against his knees again. I barely caught the nod. I bobbed my head in return, though he couldn't see it, and helped him unfold back onto the mattress. Was the injury worse than I thought and he didn't want me to see it? Was there, in fact, internal injury bruising already?

No... It's not like he had the chance to check; he barely saw the injuries before I had. But he felt them...

Shaking off my stupid internal questioning, I flicked the edge of his jacket out of the way eased the bottom of his shirt up to examine the flesh wound. Suppressing a grimace, I continued pulling the fabric over the ridge that was his ribs poking too sharply against his skin until I could spot the crimson of blood. I pulled the shirt up and away from his body to peer at the shallow, but long punctures, a frown clenching my jaw.

"Mmm... Bleeding's not too bad... We should probably at least clean it, but I don't think it needs stitches." A jerky nod in response. Neither of us moved. My gaze drifted back to the concave of his stomach and I inwardly cursed. I knew he was skinny under all those layers, but seeing what was hiding underneath was an entirely different story.

I let the shirt flop back down and patted his collarbone before standing and going to fetch a water bottle from the car, ignoring the electricity that shot up my left leg and the vertigo that rocked my balance. My hands found their way to the first aid kit instead. I glowered at it.

_Hey, you got something to fix my brother?_ It stared blankly back at me. I let my left hand drop to my side, still clutching the box, and grabbed a bottle from the floor of the car then slammed the door shut. _Didn't think so._ It could patch up my brother, but it couldn't fix him.

I returned to the tent, my leg still stiff, and shuffled over to my duffle bag, dropping the kit next to it. A quick glance revealed Sam hadn't so much as moved an inch, his dull gaze still glued to the ceiling. I turned back to my bag and snatched a clean sock from it. Good thing I'd gotten us new ones on the way to the campsite. I soaked the piece of clothing and moved back to my brother's side. The shirt hem still lay limp halfway up his stomach. I clenched my jaw and pulled it up, quickly but carefully pressing the sock up against the claw marks. Sam tensed, but didn't make a sound.

Couldn't wrap him; it would hinder his lungs from expanding and make it worse. He'd just have to take it easy for a bit. At least we'd found both berserkers and ganked 'em quickly.

Sam's breathing had evened out, as much as it could even out with a rib injury, and I almost guessed he'd fallen asleep until I looked at his face. Those eyes still staring up. If I didn't hear each wheezing inhale and exhale, he would look dead. I swallowed and pulled his shirt back down.

"You're good."

_No you're not._ I had a feeling Sam knew that too. Stubborn kid wouldn't tell me why. He nodded again.

"Dude, you got a muzzle on or what?" I let a small smile tug at my mouth. "Berserker got your tongue?"

His gaze fluttered over to mine, faint hurt behind it, flashing away as quickly as I noticed it as the corny joke caught his ears. A smirk split across his face. He shook his head, forehead creasing, as he braced his palms flat against the floor and pushed himself halfway to a sitting position.

"What- dude, stop." I took a few steps forward. He held up and hand to stop me until he got more comfortable.

"You're hurt too," he said, voice suddenly clearer than before. I frowned at him.

"What?" I glanced down at myself, vaguely recalling being plowed into and sliced open by one of the berserkers. I caught sight of the bloodstain on my jeans and the pain in my chest finally registered. I flinched.

"The other one got you too."

I shook my head and returned to my sleeping bag, grabbing the first aid kit I'd left next to my duffle on the way.

"I can take care of it." I turned away from him and started rolling up my pant-leg. It only got my knee and lower, right?

"Dean-"

"Leave it, Sam. You can't even sit up straight and you want to stitch me up? No thanks," I grunted and flipped the kit's lid open. Needle and thread, needle and thread... The bloodflow was sluggish but still seeping from the wound by the time I found the two items. Who knew it could be so hard to find them in such a small case? Sam must've noticed my difficulty.

Something thunked against my hip and sloshed. I whipped my head around to face Sam, who nodded at the floor next to me. I looked down. A water bottle. To... cleanse the cuts. I glanced back up to Sam, but he had already leaned back down, his back facing me.

"Thanks," I whispered, not wanting to wake Sam up even though I knew he wasn't asleep yet.

I almost missed the muttered "shut up" and couldn't help but smile before I started cleaning my leg.

000

**A/N: So there you go! I hope I got their personalities/voices right. If not, again, I'll do some more editing. **

**I had fun with this chapter since it was in Dean's POV. I'm thinking of alternating between the brothers for each chapter, what d'ya think?**

**Impalas and pie to all those who leave a review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay, now we get to the juicy stuff. :D I hadn't planned for Dean to find out so fast, but this is kind of just playing itself out. More freaked out, panicked Sammy ahead. More caring Dean. I have to warn you, though. Sammy is really panicked. He feels like he's losing it. If you've ever had a moment where you just feel like you're going crazy, you can sympathize with Sam... except this is probably a lot more severe of a feeling.**

**Man, I had too much fun writing this chapter, even though it hurts. :P So, here it is!**

**Oh, and THIS CHAPTER IS FROM SAM'S POV AND THE NEXT WILL BE FROM DEAN'S AND IT WILL JUST KEEP ALTERNATING. Just had to announce that so people wouldn't be confused.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural... unfortunately...**

000

I bolted upright in my sleeping bag, shoving at the icy flap that was draped over my chest and trying to ignore the burning pain that melted my insides... It didn't work. I curled forward and eased onto my side. Fractured ribs... right...

The Colt. I needed to get the Colt. Call dad. Tell him about it. Maybe he would come for it. I could warn Daniel Elkins before he got killed. Ask him for the gun. Maybe we could kill the demon the right way. Use a devil's trap. Kill it with the gun. Plan it. Plan it right.

Pain pulsed through my skull, making my stomach clench. I squeezed my eyes shut to ward off the nausea.

I knew so much more. I could stop it. Stop dad from dying, Dean from dying, heck, me from dying. Maybe even God would... I clenched my eyes shut harder.

_Don't leave us. Don't leave Dean._ I swallowed against the increasing throb in my head. _Don't leave Cas. Don't let Raphael turn. Put Zechariah in his place. And please, please get a new scribe. _

I huffed a laugh at the last one. _Yeah. Metatron's a real... Yeah, nevermind._ I shook my head into the cold cushion, pressing my left temple hard against it. _Stop thinking about it. Breathe in, breathe out..._ I repeated those four words again and again until my gut stopped twisting and the drumbeat crashing around my brain settled to a distance thumping. My eyelids fluttered open as the pressure slowly numbed.

Dean was still sleeping. I glanced around, noticing the shadows covering the tent. Still early, then. Perhaps even three in the morning... I sighed into the blanket and went back to focusing on the painful process of breathing. The nagging thoughts of constructing a plan wouldn't leave me alone. Might as well make good use of being practically lame for a few more days. Rib injuries sucked.

Okay. So I could tell Dean I found something while researching; the Colt. And that it could kill anything, including our kind of everything. We'll head to Colorado and ask Elkins if we could use the gun... if he doesn't agree...

Crap, I didn't want to think about that. Maybe I could call dad and ask him... He'd probably call back after hearing that. I laughed a little again. Over-excitement sprang in my chest. _Don't get ahead of yourself._ Gosh, I was talking to myself way to much. Dad probably wouldn't call back, but the idea of conversing about the Colt and meeting up to get it. Killing Azazel the right way; the safe way. Without Dad and Dean dying.

Saltwater prickled my eyes and I closed them quickly. I needed to stop thinking. I opened my eyes again to blurry surroundings and exhaled a shuddering breath, blinking the fuzziness away.

Bobby had given us that tent. He said he hadn't used it for a while and could always get a new one if he needed it. Who knew how much it cost. A five man tent and only two were using it. Hopefully it wouldn't go to waste.

Bobby... Another thing to add to my list. No way was Bobby going to die. At least not like... I swallowed and felt a foreign, yet familiar pressure against my left hand. I moved it a little, feeling my right thumb pressing into my palm. I lifted my left hand to observe it, tightness swelling in my throat at the sight of no damaged tissue. Nothing to ground me. Nothing to pull me back when I started drifting.

I couldn't see Lucifer yet, but I could feel it. In the back of my mind, Lucifer and the army of nine years of memories that hadn't happened yet trying to break through my sanity. I would try and shove it into a dark corner, along with the slowly surfacing memories of the Cage. Every single day, they would return, pounding at an invisible barrier to try and get through... Like the wall Death put up. Only, then, or... whenever, Cas had been able to... fix it. Sort of.

But Cas wasn't there. We hadn't even met him yet. Cas still thought I was an abomination. A mistake. A mess. A monster. Well, I couldn't say he was wrong. It was only a matter of time before Dean thought the same. I didn't know if I could tell him everything that could happen in our future if I messed up again, but I knew he would find out. Somehow, he would. He would find out that I had lived one hundred and ninety extra years and was somehow still twenty-two. Oh, and the Mystery Spot. Had to count those extra months...

Agony spiked through my jaw and to my temples, drawing the air from my lungs in a stifled cry.

_Crap, crap, crap, crap... _

I clutched my head and curled my knees towards my chest. A faint rustling whispered through the pounding in my ears.

"Sam?" Rough with sleep, but fading fast in the aching waves pulsing behind my eyes. "_Sammy?_"

I tried to say something, but it came out more as a strangled groan. Then there were warm hands on the top of my head and I finally realized how cold I felt; how cold the air felt. I shivered, even though I was sweating.

_Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out... _

Dean swore. "Come on, Sam, answer me," he whispered, and something squeezed my right shoulder. I wanted to answer, but the headache was relentless. My neck strained as I fought for more air. Blind panic tore at my senses, my lungs screaming for some release, even for the icy air that had been burning my throat for the past hour. Dean cursed again. "Sam!" A warm hand on my forehead. I panted in response, leaning into his touch, thirsty for warmth and oxygen.

My chest ached with each racing heartbeat, pounding loudly in my ears and sending shots of pain through my injured side.

"D'n," I managed through quick inhales and exhales. No matter how much I breathed, I couldn't seem to get enough air.

"Sam! Sam, listen to me! You have to breathe, man, breathe."

_I am breathing! It's just not working!_ I wanted to say something, but all I could do was open and shut my mouth like a fish out of water... which probably only spiked Dean's worry.

"Sam? _Sam!_"

I was going to die. I could feel it, numbing my bones and making me shake. I reached out blindly with what I assumed was a trembling hand, which was quickly steadied by a strong grip.

"Dean!" I gasped, desperate for some feeling of peace and reassurance.

"Right here, Sammy. I'm right here. You have have to breathe for me, okay? Can you breathe for me?"

I nodded quickly and tried to still my quaking muscles; tried to control my breathing. _Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out..._ I wasn't going to die. I was right there in the tent, with Dean. The hunt was over. We were safe. I was safe. Dean was safe. Dad was safe. Bobby was safe. I once again felt the aching chill in the air inside the tent and shied away from it.

"That's it, Sammy. You've got it. Keep breathing." A hand rested on the crown of my head, thumb rubbing above my right eyebrow. My heart-rate slowed and breathing steadied, but I couldn't stop the shaking, nor the panic that still itched in my chest, albeit decreasing little by little.

I peered shakily up at Dean, gaze darting from his furrowed eyebrows, hazel eyes, clenched jaw and then to his arm, trailing down to his elbow until I noticed his hand slip from my head to my shoulder.

I jolted up into a sitting position and whined pitifully into the air when more pain shot up my ribs. Full sensation plowed into me, I could hear my own harsh breathing, smell the pine trees and rich soil, see the fear in Dean's eyes, taste the cool air, feel the damp sleeping bag clutched in my fists.

"Whoa, easy, Sam! Easy, you're okay. We're okay!" The hand on my shoulder held tighter and Dean maneuvered back into my field of vision.

"I-I... y-y-you're..." I swallowed long and deep, unable to meet my brother's eyes.

"Sam?" he asked when I didn't finish. "_Sam?_" I nodded sharply. And then Dean was on his feet, pacing and running a hand through his hair. I still couldn't look at him. Instead, I watched my body tremble, unable to stop it. He just kept pacing for a few minutes until I could feel the tension radiating off of him.

"What the _hell,_ Sam? _What the hell_ do you keep doing? What is happening? Why are you starving yourself, who are you calling all the time, why do you keep... keep zoning out, why are you doing this to yourself and _why the hell_ won't you tell me why?" He finally stopped pacing and stood rigid above me, I could feel his intense gaze boring into the side of my head. I shook my head, mouth open but a response catching in my throat.

"I... I, uh..."

Dean knelt down to me, tense but not threatening.

He would find out. He would change everything. He wouldn't let me fix it. He'd sell his soul for me no matter what I tell him. No matter what he learns about the consequences. He would hate me for going darkside. He would hate me for starting the apocalypse. He would change. He would get quiet. He would lose the spark in his eyes. He would lose the spark in his life.

But he needed an answer. Seeing the future, seeing us lying so much... All the deception, it tore us up. It damaged us beyond prepare. There was no more excuses, no more room for lying. I just... couldn't...

"Dean, I can't tell you," I said quietly. Detached.

"Sam." _Crap, he's doing this again..._ "Sam, look at me."

I took my time complying, fascinated with my shaking torso that wouldn't stop, that wouldn't calm. I needed to run. I needed to escape. Panic leapt in my throat. Hazel eyes full of worry, but determination stared back at me.

"Sam, you can tell me. This is going to kill you if you don't. You're going to kill yourself, you can't keep doing this. I need you to watch my back on hunts, I need you safe and ready. I need you... not like this. You're running on empty, man. You're not eating, you're not sleeping and... You're scaring the hell outta me, Sam." He finished with a shake of his head and lowered his eyes briefly, sorrow raw on his face.

Dean never admitted his was afraid. Never. God have mercy on whatever scared my brother enough for him to admit it. I did that. I scared him. I forgot about his injured leg, the berserker attacking him. How could I forget? Was I so caught up in my stupid problems that I forgot that my own brother was hurting, inside and out? Yes, this was killing me, but it was also killing him. I could see it on his face. He was desperate for a way to help me. Dean hated being helpless when it came to me, to helping me. He needed to know the problem so he could know how to fix it.

But he could never fix this; fix me. Hell had stained me and there was no going back. Something had cursed me with a vision that was slowly tearing me apart. But I didn't regret having the vision. Never would. I could change things. Stop so many deaths, stop the death of the freakin' world.

"Dean... I can't. Please, just stop asking about it. _Please._" I felt my body shaking as I twisted it to face him, ignoring the pain pushing the air out of my lungs.

_You're going to lose your mind. You're going to go insane, this is going to break you. You can't keep all this bottled inside and you know it. If you don't go crazy first, you're going to die. You're going to die and you will fail the world again. Fail your brother again, just like you always did. Just like you always do._ Tears prickled against my eyes and my heart clenched at the voice ringing in my head.

"I can't stop asking, dammit!" The snapping voice made me jump. "I can't. You are falling apart! Breaking right in front of me and I can't do a damn thing about it because you won't tell me anything! Sam, please tell me what this is about." He sounded too desperate, too pleading towards the end. I needed to answer him. I just couldn't... I couldn't...

Water gathered in my eyes.

_Don't you dare. Don't you dare cry._ I ground my teeth together and hunched forward, rubbing my hands down my face. My hands were shaking even more now. Dean must've noticed. Of course he noticed.

He reached forward and grabbed the back of my neck, a familiar touch of comfort that he always used when he needed me to know that he was _there. That he was there. _

I choked back a cry, the strangled, weak noise passing my lips. The grip on my neck tightened.

"Sammy, please."

I couldn't. I couldn't do it anymore.

"I had a..." My voice sounded shaky, weak. Each word trembled with my body. I coughed. "I h-had a... a, uh, vision..." The unfocused figure next to me nodded, urging me on. "It was about... us... y-you and... and me. Our... our f-future..." Dean didn't move. I could hear his voice in my head. _That's usually what your visions are about, Sam._ "Our future... Y-years of our f-future."

He stiffened and the temperature seemed to drop even more in the tent, though the early morning slowly progressed. I heard him swallow as he shifted forward until he was sitting next to me, hand still silently speaking comforts against my neck.

"How many years, Sam," he whispered, all emotion gone from his voice. Just stiff and hard. Except for the last word.

Dean would ask for every detail of every minute, hour, day, week, month and year. He would not stop asking until he knew everything.

But I already got this far. I already started this and I had to finish it. I took a shuddering breath and hunched my shoulders forward more.

"N-nine..." Plus a hundred, give or take.

When Dean swore at my answer, I wasn't sure I would be able to tell him about the extra years that rewound themselves. I knew he was searching for a response, so I gave him a few minutes to think about it. To mull it over. This would kill Dean. I was going to take the meaning, the happiness, the spark out of Dean's life. I would mess everything up. Again.

"That's why you're not sleeping. Nightmares of our future? Nine years ahead and we're still screwed?"

I shrugged a little, sure that he would've missed the small movement amidst all the shaking if not for his steady palm against me. He shook his head.

"And you just wanted to keep nine years of hell to yourself, Sam?"

Technically, it was one hundred and eighty years of hell and nine years of really crappy stuff on earth, but... hell wasn't a completely incorrect word to describe it. I bit my lip, clenching my trembling hands into fists.

"W-we... we kill the demon," I muttered darkly, barely above a whisper. That caught Dean's attention. He was already paying all his attention, though.

"What? _The_ demon? We kill it?" He must've heard the bitterness in my voice, because he didn't sound as excited as he should have. I nodded.

"Yeah. Dad shoots it." I felt numb. Living dead. And I was sure it was showing in my tone.

"'Shoots it'? He killed it with a gun?" Dean was struggling. He probably had billions of questions.

"_Will_ kill it. W-with a gun that S-Samuel Colt made that c-can k-kill anything. The... The Colt," I said.

"That why you were acting so different in Chicago? You've known this since then? You knew Meg was a demon and Dad was there and that's why you wanted him to leave." A statement. Not a question anymore.

"Yeah. A-and..."

No. I couldn't tell him. We needed to find dad first.

"I f-found out Azazel's p-plans for me," I blurted out.

"Azazel? Who-"

"The demon. Why I k-keep having v-visions, how I m-moved that... that cabinet." Telling Dean how much of a freak I was sounded more appealing than telling him about Dad's death, his death, my death, for some reason. "Why Max had his abilities. Why s-several other p-people had their abilities." I couldn't stop the stuttering. Why was it so hard to even talk?

No. I couldn't tell him that either. No, no, no, I spoke to soon, I... This was going to kill him. Crush something inside, take that joyful element from him. I was trying to protect demons and monsters from ruining Dean, when it was me who was going to ruin him. I laughed, startling myself and my brother. No, no, no... I was losing my mind. I was going crazy, I could feel it.

"Sam? Sam, you still with me?" The voice echoed in my ears, bouncing around my eardrums. The headache that started as soon as I spoke the first word to Dean was quickly escalating. Though I was numb, I somehow felt my trembling intensify. I was hefted to my feet and ushered somewhere. The air around me, us, got colder than inside the tent, but also clearer. Then I was being gently set onto a seat. The impala. I was in the impala.

I just stayed there, staring at... at something. I didn't know how much time had passed when Dean finally slid into the drivers seat next to me and started the car, heading away from the campsite.

Dean was right. This was killing me. Draining me. Turning me, not into a monster, but an empty... thing. A shell of myself. Withdrawn and blank and sometimes not feeling anything. So much hurt. So much hurt all the time, but sometimes it all stopped. And I couldn't feel anything. I needed to feel something. I needed to. The pressure in my left palm returned from this morning. No. No, no, no.

My heartbeat simultaneously quickened. I clenched my dry eyes shut and held my breath, willing the oxygen-stealing panic to leave.

Dad. I needed to call dad.

Just like that, I snapped out of my discomforting stupor and lunged for my phone. Where was my phone?

"Dean, my phone, where is it?" I asked in a rush. He frowned, giving me a double take.

"What?"

"My phone, where is it?" I hoped the desperate insane feeling didn't show through my eyes.

"In the backseat in your duffel. Why do you need your phone?" His voice sounded rough with worry... like it usually was those days.

"To call dad." I strained back, twisting around the seat to grab my duffel. My ribs caught on fire, drawing a groan from my chest, but not halting my train of thought. I grabbed the strap and dragged it onto my lap.

"Sam, what the..? Stop, you'll break your ribs, dude." With one hand still on the wheel, he reached over and tugged at my shoulder, but I was already facing forward again, digging through my bag. There it is. I flipped it open and dialed Dad's number. I spoke as soon as it beeped at me.

"Dad, we're headed to Colorado." I could feel Dean's confusion to my left. "To Daniel Elkin's place. He has a gun that can kill anything and we think, know, it will kill the demon. Meet us there or don't meet us there, we're going to kill the demon with it." I snapped it shut and shoved it in my pocket then started chewing on my fingernails. Yeah, I probably could've worded that a little better. But the manic feeling in my chest was slowly moving to my brain, clawing for attention.

"Colorado, huh? You think you can elaborate a little on 'nine years' on the way there?"

I glanced over to Dean, who's eyes were caught on the road. Yes, I needed to talk about something. Anything but sitting helplessly while my mind disintegrated.

"Uh, yeah..." My hands started trembling again, but I fisted them in my lap. "Where should I start..?" Dean gripped the wheel tighter and flitted his gaze over to me.

"How about the stuff you know I should know about?"

Thank God Dean knew that explaining nine years would be near impossible. Getting to the need-to-know stuff first was a blessing and a curse. I shuddered. I had to tell him Dad died. That I died and that Dean sold his soul. That I turned, that I started the apocalypse. That I almost killed him and... Another trembling breath expelled from my lungs. The stuff that happened in the Cage. I hadn't even told Dean in the future about that... I'd probably lose it again if I did. Maybe I would lose it now. Maybe I already had...

"Yeah, okay... But, uh... The headaches I've been having... They usually... always... come whenever I think about my vision... at least whenever I think about it in detail or... too much. Talking about it... Well, it isn't any better. Worse, usually..." Dean nodded next to me.

"Yeah, well, you aren't taking any aspirin unless you want to stop for some breakfast." He eyed me before turning back to the road.

"Well, um... We find the Colt and go after the demon with dad. To Salvation, Iowa. I have a vision of the next victim, so we know who to watch. Then... Meg calls... she, uh, kills Pastor Jim and some of dad's hunter friends. Dad... he goes. With a fake gun, but they catch on. Catch him... We save the family, but the demon gets away..." Yeah, I would skip some of the details. Dean didn't need to know all of it.

"We call dad. Meg answers. So, we go to Bobby. Singer. Meg shows up, gets caught in a devil's trap, and we try and get some information outta her. She keeps saying he was dead, but... you didn't believe her." Dean white-knuckled the wheel next to me. "We exorcize her. The real Meg, before she dies, uh, tells us that dad is alive." Dean frowned. "Um, in Chicago? Meg had fallen... out of the warehouse, so the body the demon was possessing took that hit. Once we exorcized it, it couldn't keep her alive anymore.

"So, we head to Jefferson City... to get dad. We find him, hide out, but once we're there... you noticed that dad was acting... different... Once the demon knew we were onto him..." I shrugged, feeling my fists shake against my thighs. "He pinned us to the wall... taunted us... He, uh... You just start smart-mouthing like you always do and Azazel starts... doing something. Making you bleed. I don't know if it was on the outside or... or something internal, but... I, uh... I couldn't do anything and..." My heart beat furiously in my chest, pounding pain up my spine into my skull.

"But you keep talking to dad... and he... takes back control. For a little while... And... he wants me to kill him. With the Colt. Kill him and kill the demon." I turn suddenly to Dean and he returns my gaze, eyes hopping from the road, then back to me. "I almost did it. I didn't want to, but... He was begging me to. He wanted me to. You... you, bleeding out on the floor, you were begging me not to. And I... I couldn't, so I just shot him in the leg... The demon left dad and we left to go to the hospital. You, in the backseat, me, driving..."

I could feel my shoulders shaking now and the weight on my chest from before. The pain in my head remained steadily climbing.

"Then... a demon possessing a truck driver just... drives straight into us. Comes outta no-where... broadsides the car, dad's side..." I swallowed, wincing against my headache and trying to keep from hyperventilating. At least, that's what I think was happening whenever I couldn't breathe.

"I wake up... you and dad... you guys don't... don't answer... The demon had left the truck driver, so the guy called 911. I, uh... I waited for the ambulance... They put us all on stretchers... Wouldn't tell me anything. Wouldn't even tell me if you were alive."

Dean visibly swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing as he glared at the lines on the road.

"I was relatively okay. A few scratches." I shrugged. I knew Dean wanted to know more about my injuries, but it didn't matter. This was just the tip of the iceberg. There was so much more to tell. Besides, Dean was freakin' dying. My injuries didn't matter. "Dad broke his arm. I think he had a few broken ribs too, but... he was awake soon after we got to the hospital. I don't know how he was so... okay. The truck hit him straight on.

"But you..." A shuddering exhale left me breathless while I tried to think of the right words. For this whole explanation. "You wouldn't wake up... Man, you were hooked up to so many machines, I..." The pain in my head tugged my eyelids closed, scratching through my sinuses. "As soon as dad wakes up, I go and talk to him. Not even a day with you gone," I winced at the words. "and we were already fighting. I... I thought he was still after the demon. I thought you were dying and dad still was after the demon. I didn't... I didn't know...

"While we were arguing, you..." I huffed a nervous laugh and grimaced. "You were walking around as a ghost." Dean tore his stoney gaze from the road to stare at me. I shrugged again. "That close to death, Dean. You were walking around with a freakin' reaper. Your heart stopped. And... dad, he... he he left for a while, I didn't know where. I figured he was probably going after the demon. But he, uh..." Sells the Colt and his soul for you and dies thinking I hate his guts. "He trades the Colt for you, and..."

Fire and ice shot through my skull, increasing my trembling until I leaned against the window of the car and squeezed my eyes shut.

"And his soul. He sells his soul for you. He comes back. You're awake, fine. I start fighting with him again. As soon as he comes back... He asks for some coffee and I... Just something, he... Something was wrong and I knew it so... I went to get him some coffee. He talks with you... says something to you that... sets you off. But Dean, he tells you he's proud of you. That he put too much on you. That he pushed you to... to grow up to fast. Dean, he is proud of you." Now I felt desperate just for Dean to know that much. That dad was proud of him. That he was sorry. But of course, dad then laid something even worse on Dean, but... He was sorry.

I cleared my throat. "Anyway, um... I come back with the coffee... he's... he's dead on the floor... They can't save him and... We burn his body. You don't let on that he said anything to you... And we head back to Bobby's so you can fix up the car."

I pressed my forehead harder on the glass. Now that the first hit had passed, I had to focus on stopping me from flipping out again. A glance at the clock showed that less than half an hour had passed. I moaned against the glass. This was going to be hell.

I didn't even notice the car had stopped until Dean opened the passenger door and grabbed me by the shoulders.

"You're fine, Sam, you're okay." Apparently he recognized the signs from the past two freak outs. He didn't need to ask me if I was okay. I curled forward, trying to staunch the pain, and rested my forehead against his shoulder. "Whoa, Sammy. Easy..." His hand on my back, speaking more comfort that even his words. I could feel my body shaking against his fingers, irritating my already injured ribs and stealing the breath from the lungs. The smell of his leather jacket calmed my nerves as I tried to soak up his body heat. Even with the heat vents on, I still felt like I was ice.

But I was okay. Dean was okay. Everything was okay... Right?

000

**A/N: Right, Sammy. Right... :D Okay, so I can't wait to throw John into this situation. Give me suggestions of what you want to see. What do you want to see Sam tell Dean about? **

**Oh, and in case you haven't figured it out, Sam is having severe, I mean severe, panic attacks. Something, an action or even a thought, is triggering them. **

**AND another detail, Sam had his vision, seeing whatever we saw while watching it. Meaning, he sees Dean when Sam wasn't there. Like, he saw Dean after he died. He saw Dean talking to his body on the bed. Meaning Sam saw what he couldn't see before.**

**Okay, so tell me what you think. Reviews are my fuel. 3**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Next chapter! (EDITED JUST NOW) First off, thanks ALL OF YOU for the reviews. They make my day and motivate me to write. Thanks a million.**

**Second, I'm sad to say this chapter is a little shorter. I think I write better as Sam, so his chapters will probably be a little longer. I have fun with Dean's, but it doesn't come as naturally.**

**I'm so excited guys! This is my longest story yet and it is becoming so much more easier to write than my other ones. So happy it's turning out so well! FJkdajflkdajflajlk**

**I didn't think this is how this chapter would go, but it just sort of... happened.**

**Anyways, enjoy!**

000 1st Person (Dean)

Sam drifted off into a tense sleep after that, twitching and squirming in his sleep, but not quite enough for me to wake him up. Probably dreaming about who the president's gonna be in three years, anyway.

I scrubbed a hand down my face, lingering on the thin stubble on my chin.

No. Sam was probably dreaming about some crazy hunt gone wrong that makes him lose it and almost have a heart attack. If we still hunted in nine years... What else could screw us so bad?

A drop of sweat trickled down my forehead to my jaw. The heat was boiling the car like a sauna and Sam's skin still felt cold whenever I felt it. I pursed my lips and aimed all the vents at him before cracking my window. Sam relaxed a little, but didn't stop moving in his slumber.

I clenched my jaw and glared at the road.

How the hell did that happen? Sam had visions, but not several years worth of someone's future! This was insane! His weird episodes freaked me out more than when Bloody Mary got to him. They probably rank up somewhere near when Sam was trapped in our old house. I let out a shaky breath, hating how fast my heart was beating. Sam was the one falling apart and I needed to be there to put the pieces back together. I couldn't lose it.

Sam had known our dad freakin' died and decided to keep that to himself? Didn't think I would want to know? Kept that secret locked up until it drove him over the edge? How many other things had he seen? How many other horrors had he seen in our lives that was bad enough to reduce him to... to...

I glanced over to Sam, who still shifted in his seat, eyes fluttering under sweaty eyelids.

To that. Others would look at Sam and see someone sleeping, dreaming maybe. I saw my brother who was sweating besides feeling freezing cold, who was too pale and too skinny, who looked too small for someone his size, for someone who beat ghosts, poltergeists, berserkers, wendigos and whatever else the hell we hunt. I saw someone hanging by a thread amidst chaos that only he could see.

I sighed and gripped the steering wheel tighter. Sam said we're going to Colorado... I'd rather go to Bobby's. Apparently he helped us after... after dad's death and he was an old family friend. Sam needed as much help as he could get. Maybe Bobby would know where Sam got his vision. I'd have to ask Sam if future Bobby knew about his visions and didn't freak out or anything about it. I'd have to ask Sam a lot of things.

Sam had mentioned dad killing the demon, but from his story, that didn't happen. The demon got away. So what, does dad come back as a... No. No, that couldn't happen. Hunters coming back as ghosts? That would be chaotic. That would be apocalyptic. And what was that... the demon had plans for Sam? He probably forgot to elaborate on that. Yeah, sure, he just forgot. No big deal, the demon that killed our mom and his girlfriend had plans for him.

My knuckles turned white against the wheel and I wished I could just snap it. Well, that wouldn't be the best idea, but I wished I could break something. Kill something.

Once we get the Colt, we can kill the demon. That would work.

"You don't have to hide it, you know."

I started, swerving slightly before turning to see Sam awake and blinking sluggishly at the road ahead.

"Hide it? I thought you were the one hiding things, Sam." I stiffened at my own words and kept my eyes forward. I heard Sam shift around beside me.

"Hide that you're scared. It's okay to be scared, Dean. I'd say a situation like this calls for being scared. I've seen the future, Dean. You can't do anything I haven't seen already."

I frowned. What about crash the impala? Or punch him? Or let him pick the music? Or eat a salad at a drive-thru instead of a burger? I shook my head. I thought I was actually taking this new information about Sam's vision rather well.

"I'm not scared, Sam," I said, relieved that my voice sounded confident.

"Really, Dean? Because... I've seen you scared. And each time you are, you deny it."

I glanced at him, making sure he could see the confusion on my face. "So what, if I deny it that means I'm guilty? Cause if I don't deny it, that would mean I'm guilty. So... either way, this conversation isn't in my favor." Sam huffed a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, I guess so. But... Man, you thought me keeping things bottled up was bad." He sounded vulnerable. Small and young again.

"That is different, Sam, and you know it."

I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye.

"So where are we?"

I glanced at the clock, surprised that two hours had already passed. "Not even to Idaho yet. You can catch more shuteye, I'll wake you when we stop for lunch." I could hear Sam swallow.

"I'm not very tired."

I almost laughed. Of course Sam was tired, everything about him said tired. But that's how it usually was for Sam. Each time he looked that tired, it was usually because of what happened while he was asleep. Which meant he didn't want to sleep. But I nodded anyway. Whatever horrors Sam could see behind his eyelids were probably bad enough to warrant Sam a pass to stay awake for a while. I didn't really look forward to waking him up from a flashback, or flashforward, again, anyways.

"You can ask me, Dean. Anything, I know you have a lot of questions. Better to get them over with." Crap, the kid sounded so... so defeated. But, again, I nodded. I understood. Sort of.

"You said the demon... He had plans for you. What does that mean?"

Sam flinched. Yeah, this wasn't a good topic of choice. But it's not like I had much to ask about. I had about as much of an idea where to start as he did. Sam rubbed a hand down his face, lingering over his eyes.

"Azazel... did something to me the night mom died. He wasn't in my nursery for kicks. And Dean, I know you said this wasn't my fault, but... it kind of is." _No it isn't,_ I thought with a swallow. But I couldn't exactly argue with the guy who saw the future. "The demon was there for me and mom came in while he was... While he was f-feeding me."

I frowned deeper at the road and clenched my jaw so hard I probably chipped a tooth. "Feeding you what?" My voice sounded stiff and raspy. I tried not to notice how Sam's hands started to shake before he clasped them together in his lap.

"Blood... Demon blood..." I let my eyes slide closed automatically, not caring that I was driving. I let them stay shut for a moment before opening them again. "Just like he fed Max. And other people like me. Not just some random feeding, he had a plan and... I guess I'm half demon or something. I don't know the word for it, but I have... demon blood... in me... That's why I have visions... And why I could move that cabinet and..."

I nodded slowly. "Could you... I mean, in the future... Did you have more abilities? What did he do with you? What _was_ the plan?" I hated where this was going. Hated it. Sam had demon blood inside him? Every time he bled in front of me, whether it be from a gunshot would or a bloody nose, that was demon blood? Sam was supernatural just like all the things we hunted?

Except Sam wasn't evil. He was one of the kindest people I knew. Not really the best way to put it, seeing as I didn't know very many people and knew even less nice people.

"His plan was to select a few kids to turn and when the time came, somehow get us to someplace remote and have us fight to the death. The last one standing would... would lead demons in a war."

Crap. _Crap._ I wanted to believe Sam won. I wanted to, but Sam? Killing people? Especially for a cause such as leading freakin' demons? No. Maybe he escaped?

"One of us tried to escape." Okay, what, was he a mind reader now? I winced. Bad joke. "She turned up dead. We decided not to leave. But I guess... I got lucky, at first. Most of them knew as much as I did. In fact, I was probably the only one who knew at least half of what was going on."

I took the nearest exit to the nearest rest stop. I'd crash the car while having this conversation.

"So, did you win?" Man, I said it like we're talking about the weather. Our life sucked. Sam stiffened against the door and burrowed deeper into his coat, clearing his throat.

"Uh, no. No I didn't, I... Three of the other people were killed. Andy, this guy who could make people do what he said, like mind control, he helped me transfer a picture to you. Of where we were. But... Andy was killed. It wound down to just me and Jake... he had, uh, superhuman strength... I tried convincing him we shouldn't give the demon what it wants, but... He, uh... didn't want to... You and Bobby made it. I just... I got distracted and... he ran me through. Knife to the spinal cord." He shrugged, probably trying to keep it together. "I, uh... we... you caught me and I..." The shaking increased until his shoulders trembled and he shook his head.

"I died."

No. No, no, no, no, no. Sam saw himself die and he has been keeping that locked up? Him dying. And he just tried to pretend he was fine? Dread pooled in my stomach and I got the feeling this wasn't the worst of it. And when dying isn't the worst of your future, that _cannot_ be a good thing.

"Bobby tried going after Jake, but... he got away... You barely took time to mourn, Dean. I mean... you were devastated, but... It wasn't too long after that you just... left and... You sold your soul for me, Dean. You. Sold your soul. To hell. For me."

I pulled into the parking lot of the rest stop, but didn't let go of the wheel. My hands were glued to it, gripping it so I wouldn't lose my marbles. I couldn't say I wasn't surprised. I would sell my soul right then if Sam died.

"Crossroad demons usually give you ten years before they harvest your soul, but since you were a Winchester, they gave you one. One year, Dean! You didn't even tell me at first. You just said I was stabbed and Bobby fixed me up." Accusations tinted his voice, but most of all, fear and desperation. Sam was freaking out again. "I tried all year, Dean. All year I tried and tried to find a way to undo your deal, but the crossroads demon said if you tried to weasel out of it, I would drop dead. I couldn't find a way to break it!

I swear, Dean, I tried so hard, I-I couldn't do it! I'm sorry I couldn't do it, but I tried, I swear, I tried!"

Aw, crap. Sammy was blaming himself for something that hadn't even happened. Yeah, sounded like Sam Winchester.

"Sam..."

His breath hitched before quickening to short pants as he turned to face me. "Please believe me, Dean, I tried! I just couldn't! Lilith came and hellhouds ripped you to shreds while I stood by and watched! I just watched, Dean, I didn't stop it! You went to hell and I didn't stop it!" Muddy green eyes glistened, but didn't drop any tears. Sam said he stood by and watched, but I knew there had to be a good reason. Sam would not just stand there of his own will and watch me die.

"Sam, stop it!" I snapped, staring straight into Sam's eyes and holding the gaze to make sure he got the message. Straight through his thick skull. "It was not your fault! Like you said, you tried, Sam. It is not your fault. Don't blame yourself for something you couldn't help."

Sam shook his head, barring his teeth as he clenched them tight, his eyes fluttering away.

"Sam, look at me. Do you understand me? _It. Was. Not. Your. Fault._"

He shook his head again, refusing to look back at me. I cursed and faced forward.

For a few minutes, or it could have been hours, all I could hear was the sound of Sam's ragged breathing. From what I could tell, he still had managed to keep the tears at bay. Ever since his vision, he started hiding his pain from me. Probably thought it was weakness. I rested my face in my hands and sighed deeply, slipping further into the seat.

"Sam, I don't know what kind of crap you have floating around in your head, but I do know that no matter what happens to me, one year or nine, I will never see it that way. You have not and will never disappoint me, you understand?" I needed him to see that. To understand that. But by the way he scoffed a laugh into his coat, I figured I'd need to say a lot more than just that to convince him.

"Really? You sure about that?" Bitterness rang through his words like a storm. A deadly storm and my mouth went dry. My confidence dwindled fast, down to my feet. Sam knew something I didn't. And I had a feeling he knew what he was talking about. But nevertheless, I swallowed and nodded. He shook his head, shoulders hunching like they always did when he wanted to run and hide.

He opened his mouth to respond, but words must have failed him, because what felt like the next hour was drowned in complete and utter silence.

Oh, God, I couldn't do this. I shoved my door open and tumbled outside onto my feet, pacing along the side of the car before resting my arms on the top.

_Sammy..._ I shook my head and flinched when the car shifted, passenger door opening and Sam slipping out.

"If you say sorry one more time, so help me, I will make you walk to Colorado," I warned, straightening and clutching the edge of the car. His body practically screamed pain, but he didn't seem to notice. My own injured leg throbbed, but I bet it was nothing compared to the pain in his head from sharing all that information at once.

"Dean, I didn't... I wasn't... I... I couldn't... I don't... I'm-"

"Don't. I already know you're sorry, Sam. But for what? None of that, _none of it,_ has happened. You're apologizing for nothing, Sam. Stop beating yourself up about it, it didn't happen!"

"Dean, one day... One day is all it took. One day gone differently, and we could be headed right in that direction. All that, it would've happened. Lots of bad things would happen if not for that one day. Now I don't know if it was my physic powers or something else, but Dean, that vision is the only thing keeping all that from happening. So I _am_ sorry." The wild look in his eyes rubbed off on his stance, arms and legs rigid like a wild animal waiting to bolt.

I pushed myself off of the car and shook my head, clasping my hands and turning away from him.

"Get in the car."

"What-"

"_Get in the car, Sam._"

He did.

000

We had just entered Boulder and I was looking forward to and dreading getting to Elkins' place. After Sam's near-breakdown, we hadn't said anything else. We stopped for lunch and dinner, but neither of us had much. The rest of the trip had been silence and the occasional tape humming beats to only slightly sooth my nerves. We didn't stop for a motel when the sky grew dark or even when it faded back to dark blue.

I knew I should probably say something to Sam. He didn't need to be thinking I was angry at him on top of all his other problems, but each time I considered talking to him, I couldn't think of anything to say. Was there any right way to talk about it?

"This his place up here?" I asked gruffly. Sam pushed himself up in his seat and peered around. He nodded and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, hands a little shaky, but not full out trembling.

"Yeah. Yeah, this is it."

I parked the car outside of the small cabin and leaned back in the seat. "So, how do you want to do this?"

"I..." His eyebrows furrowed. "Me?"

"Yes, you. This was your idea."

He sighed and glanced over to the front door of the house. "Yeah, okay. I'll just..." Another sigh. "Yeah." The door opened and he slipped out, closing it silently behind him before crunching on the thin layer of snow over to the building. He hesitated. Then knocked.

The car suddenly felt stuffy. I sat up and away from the seat and leaned to the side to get a better look at the man that answered the door. Sam's gidantor body was blocking my view. They conversed for a few minutes, Sam ducking his head every now and then. Okay, he was embarrassed. Why?

He nodded to the man, most likely saying thank you, the boy scout, and shuffled back to the car. Those ribs were probably killing him from all the abuse they'd suffered. It wasn't like Sam was taking it easy.

He slid back into the seat like it was molded for him and sighed. "Dad already has it. Elkins says he stopped by earlier today and asked him to tell us to meet him at the Boulder Mountain Lodge."

We checked the map and started heading out of town towards the place.

000

"Dean?"

I hummed in response, not breaking my staring contest with the asphalt.

"Should I tell dad?"

I paused and clenched my jaw... again. Then shrugged, shifting my hand over and inch.

"I don't know... You want me to tell him?" I glanced over to Sam.

"What? No... No, Dean, I'm not seven." But he smiled. Honest to God smirk, and even though it didn't quite reach his eyes, I couldn't help the warmth that spread over my chest. I grinned toothily at him and turned up the music a notch.

"Well, I think he has to know. He's gonna wonder how you found out about the gun."

"Yeah..."

I still needed to ask Sam another boatload of questions, but I didn't think either of us were up for it today.

I pulled into the parking lot without even thinking about it, hopping out of the car in sync with Sam. We grabbed our duffels and looked up and down the room numbers.

"There. That's dad's truck." Sam pointed to a large, black truck and then the room in front of it. We both moved over to the door. I knocked.

After no answer, I tried the knob and was surprised to find it unlocked. Dad left the door unlocked? I shot a look at Sam before cracking it open. Sam's handgun went in first as I shoved the door all the way open, wincing at the loud creak it made.

The room was medium sized, two queen beds with white quilts taking up most of the space. A bathroom doorway stood opposite of us, all lights off.

Sam stepped over the salt line first, twisting around the room before letting me enter. I closed the door behind us and flipped on the light.

A shadow moved in front of the bathroom door, familiar in all the right ways. I smirked before I even heard the gravelly voice speak.

"Hey, boys." I could clearly see his face now, my eyes finally adjusting to the light. The faint smile that rarely crept on his face made mine grow wider.

"Dad." I nodded curtly, smile fading a little. Sam did the same, seeming to shrink into himself.

"Got your phone call."

"Nice to know you're actually getting them," I shot back, my tone respectful but the words saying otherwise. Dad nodded and stepped into the room.

"Yeah."

I noticed Sam's hands trembling as he slipped his gun away. God knew what images were pounding at his head. I took a step closer to him, watching some of the tension leave his shoulders.

"You boys okay?"

Well, wasn't that the question of the day? I shifted awkwardly in place.

"More or less," Sam stated huskily and I tilted my head in agreement. Were we really ever okay? Dad nodded again and stood rigid towards the side of the room. Sam's adam's apple moved as he swallowed.

"Christo." Dad was momentarily caught by surprise, but didn't flinch. Sam visibly relaxed a little more. "Just making sure."

Dad frowned as he glanced Sam up and down, no doubt taking note of how loose Sam's clothes were and how sunken his face looked. He probably also noticed how pale he was and how he stood tense, wincing ever so slightly when moving and guarding his stomach with his arms. He looked over to me, silently conveying the question before asking it verbally.

"What happened?"

"Berserkers. Two of them. Snuck up on us. Sammy got pinned by one. Banged his ribs up pretty bad, but didn't break anything." I stared at the back of Sam's head, even so, noticing dad's gaze shift down to my leg. I swore inwardly. He must've noticed how I'd been favoring it. "Caught me on the leg. Not too bad."

"He had to stitch it," Sam said quickly.

"It wasn't that bad," I insisted, glaring daggers into Sam's back. Tension spiked in the room as dad glanced between us both, finally evaluating whatever it was he needed to and leaned against the doorframe.

"How did you find out about the Colt?"

We both stiffened, my gaze darting back to Sam. Did I call it or did I call it?

000

**A/N: So, did they sound like themselves? Or did they act too OOC? Same questions apply to John.**

**Did you like it? I honestly can't wait for John to find out about Sam's vision.**

**This chapter sort of played itself out again. I mean, I have a general idea of where this story is going, but so far, the chapters just sort of play themselves. If Sam was acting a little too off, please tell me. I'll try to fix it. I know he's struggling to keep it together, so that's some of an excuse, be he can't act too differently.**

**Thanks guys! Please leave a review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Voila! Okay, so let's get the ball rolling. Demons. More pain. More panic attacks(sorry, but there are just so many possibilities!). **

000 1st Person (Sam)

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Why couldn't I just be a normal person? With a girlfriend and a normal family and friends and college? A normal person doesn't have to explain things like this. That you had a vision about nine years into your future. But there was always a voice whispering in my head that... I knew. I knew why I couldn't be that way. I huffed an internal laugh. The voice was probably Lucifer.

I forced myself to look my dad in the eye and tried not to look so weak. He had noticed my injuries, so of course he had noticed my condition. The sleepless eyes, the weary stance, the frail body. I had always been a little lean, but I knew I'd stepped over a line. But my gut was always crawling and twisting as it was and food just made it worse. Besides, it had all but lost its taste to me.

"Research," I said easily. "If you can hunt the thing, so can we. We may not be together all the time, but we can still help each other."

True, I hadn't been sleeping well, but as selfish as it was, I was thankful Dean hadn't stopped at a motel on the way. Having him awake and driving the impala to a calming rhythm somehow let me doze most of the way without many interruptions. But I could feel him behind me and he was exhausted.

Dad must've been reading my mind because he sighed deeply against the wall and gestured to the beds.

"Well, get some rest. We'll talk some more once you've had some sleep." Before we could respond, he marched over to the light-switch, stopping to turn on the lamp, and flipped it off. Dean and I both sprung forward, putting our duffels away and changing into more comfortable clothes to sleep. I pulled out a shirt Jess had given me, a plain black tee with a bright green tree frog on the front, and my basketball shorts from Stanford. I stared at them for a moment before dodging into the bathroom to change.

I slid my jacket off and then my two other layers carefully. About time I did something carefully. Once I got them off, I could see the dark bruises littering my torso, darkest near the cuts that were now scabbed over.

I hated many things but I hated showers a lot. At least ever since my vision. Each time it was worse, seeing my body digress to sharp edges and lost muscle. Any speck of fat went first, but then it attacked my muscle supply, making it an effort to get up in the morning. Dean knew it and now dad knew it. They would make me eat if they had to die trying. I would eat, but throwing your insides up wasn't exactly my favorite thing.

The t-shirt went on quickly, as did my shorts. I crept out into the bedroom where Dean had already crashed in his boxers, and shoved my dirty cloths into my bag.

Nightmares would probably wake me up in the night, but I was ready for sleep. Sleep in an actual bed and this lodge wasn't that bad of quality. Not that I would care. I would sleep in an abandon hotel as long as I got a bed.

I crawled onto the cushion and slid under the comforter, burrowing deep into the sheets and curling on my side. Yeah, I didn't care if I had nightmares. The bed was comfortable enough.

000

It didn't take long for my mind to start wondering in its sleep. A few hours and images of fire and blood rained onto my subconscious, Dean writhing on the floor with invisible beasts attacking him while I burned alive on the ceiling and watched. Despite how hot I felt, when I woke, I felt freezing underneath my blankets. I shivered, heaving my breaths behind fabric until I got it under control.

I hadn't woke Dean. Good. I eased off of the bed and stealthily moved over to the furnace. I poked at the buttons to turn it up, jerking back when I felt bone underneath rough skin. I reeled back and reached for my knife under my pillow, but a whisper stopped me.

"Easy, Sammy, it's just me."

I blinked past the dim lighting, the sun must've finally come up behind those dark curtains, and tried to make out the shape in front of me. The dark eyes finally registered and I felt some of the fight in me drain.

"Oh. Sorry," I mumbled and shifted in my spot, loosening my tense muscles. Dad reached back to the furnace and turned the heat up. After the warmth started blasting right next to me, I didn't feel like returning to the bed.

Of course dad was awake. I didn't think I'd seen him sleep for who knows how long. He stepped back to the desk and silently seated himself in front of it.

I took a step closer to the furnace and soaked up the heat. It would be a pain when I finally moved away from it, but the warmth felt too pleasant against my icy skin. I'd done research and quick weight loss did that to you. Makes you feel cold all the time.

Dad kept watching me from across the room and I felt my skin tingle from the unseen gaze. I glanced over my shoulder to meet it.

"Jus' a little cold," I whispered, hoping Dean wouldn't wake. Dad nodded. We both stopped talking for a while, listening to the gentle humming of the machine and Dean's soft snoring. It almost lulled me to sleep standing up. I tipped to the side and snapped my eyes open, catching myself on the wall. I heard dad chuckle lightly.

"We have beds for a reason."

I turned around to face him, smiling a little when spotting the smirk on his face. He nodded his head towards my bed.

"Get some sleep, Sam." This time, I obeyed not because he was my drill sargent, but because he was my dad and that tone in his voice spoke of care and concern. I shuffled back to my bed and fell onto it, diving under the covers once my body registered the temperature difference. Sleep soon met me again.

000

I could hear quiet voices. Behind me a little to my... right.

So why wasn't I reaching for my knife to plan an attack?

"So, then what do we do?" Young voice.

"I'm going to make a few calls. You and your brother keep an eye out for demon omens." An older voice. Then a door opening and closing.

Keep looking, keep looking... for what? I pressed the side of my face harder against the pillow, trying to stifle the slight headache from escalating. Bed, I was in a bed. Where was I? The voices stopped and something shifted around me, arriving on my left side. I gripped the handle of my blade.

"Sammy?" Dean. It was Dean. I let go of the knife and peeled my eyes open.

Oh yeah. We were in a room. In... Colorado. We were with dad. We had the Colt. We were going to go after the demon. Together.

I groaned as I pushed myself into a sitting position, slipping my legs over the edge of the bed. From my waist up, all my muscles protested from the movement and my head spun. Probably from sitting in a car for hours on top of injured ribs that hadn't exactly been given the best treatment, curtesy of myself. I rolled my shoulders and grimaced.

"What time is it?" I mumbled, squinting at the light filtering in from outside.

"Three." Dean plopped onto his bed opposite of me and tossed me a water bottle. I fumbled to catch it, relieved that my hands were steady enough to grab it before it hit the blankets. I nodded my thanks and took a swig. "How you feelin'?"

"A little sore." I shrugged. I wouldn't tell him about the small headache. They weren't exactly strange occurrences those days. This one didn't feel like a vision headache anyways. "All things considered, fine, though." I glanced around the room, taking in the empty desk chair and open bathroom door. "Where's dad?"

"He went outside. Making a few calls." He scooted back on his bed and leaned against the headboard.

"To who?"

Dean shrugged and looked around, gaze resting on the laptop on the desk. He stiffly got off the cushion and took a seat in front of it, opening it and booting it up. "Dad wants us to look out for demon omens. See where it's going next."

Oh... Wasn't I supposed to have a vision? Salvation, Iowa.

"Iowa. Salvation, Iowa, remember?"

Dean froze his typing and glanced back to me. "... yeah... Yeah, okay..." He turned back and started clicking away again.

"Dad needs to call all of his friends. Tell them to beef up their securities and be extra careful," I pointed out, standing and moving to my bag to get my clothes.

"I know, but what am I supposed to say, Sam? I just have a feeling?" Dean turned fully away from the computer to watch me as I dug through the duffel.

"We can tell dad about my visions. It happens anyways." I shrugged, standing with my bag, since I couldn't concentrate on which pieces of fabric were shirts and which were pants, and moved towards the bathroom. Dean frowned at me and glanced at the front door.

"... How's he take it?"

I shrugged and grabbed the door. "Not that bad..." Before he could respond, I closed the door. A sigh slipped past my lips as I turned around to face my reflection, wincing at my pale skin and the dark rings under my eyes. I looked about as bad as I did when I was doing the trials.

Crap. I pinched the bridge of my nose as pain blossomed behind my eyes. Could I not go one day without thinking about my vision? I set my duffel down and rummaged through it blindly in search of my aspirin. I groped through my clothes and gasped, yanking my hand away when something pricked my left palm. Cracking my eyes open, I spotted bright red through the blurry shapes.

My other knife. The one dad gave me when I turned thirteen; the one I always kept in my bag when I wasn't using it. With a curse, I stood and shoved my injured hand under the faucet and ran the water on. Though the headache didn't subside, I managed to push through it to keep my eyes open and on the wound.

Deep. Little to no stitches. I pulled a long strip of toilet paper and started to wrap it around my injured palm as a momentary bandage, but my vision kept swimming. My hands trembled and the cloth ripped once it got damp from the moisture.

Hot agony split up my jaw, buckling my knees. The impact jolted up my thighs to my ribs and I jack-knifed forward to staunch the pain. The tile felt cold against my forehead, catching the sweat that dripped off my nose. I choked on a breath and squeezed my eyes shut.

Not again. Not with dad there. Something knocked firmly against the door.

"Sam? You almost finished brushing your hair, Samantha?" Dean's voice, gruff with worry despite the teasing.

He would be able to hear that something was wrong if I spoke, but if I didn't, he would know already. I opened my mouth to speak, but another wave of pain stole the air from my lungs.

"_Sam?_" Panic lodged in my throat. I couldn't breathe. Again. What was wrong with me?

I heard another voice behind the door, then a muffled response from Dean.

Dad. He couldn't find out. He already saw me as messed up, he didn't need another reason to be disappointed in me.

"Sam, if you don't answer, I swear, I'm kicking the door down." Dean pounded on the door again.

"No!" I gasped, reaching out my shaking arm to the door with my right hand, my left tucked securely under my stomach. "Don't."

"Sam? Sam, you okay?"

"Yeah," I breathed through ragged pants and pressed my temple against the floor.

_Breathe in, breathe out... _

"_Sammy..._" a voice hissed, similar to that of a snake's. I started, lifting my head to glance around the room. Nobody. It definitely wasn't Dean or dad... A ghost or..?

No. God, no. A petrified panic settled over me, cold against my heart. I hadn't regained my breath yet and the harsh breathing started up again. No, it couldn't... He... It hadn't happened yet. No, it wasn't happening. Ever. He wasn't... I swallowed and pounded my head against the floor.

"Sam!" Dean knew I wasn't fine. When did he not?

"_Hey... Hey, bunk buddy. You miss me? Saaaammy..._"

I coughed pitifully and curled tighter into myself.

"You're not real. You haven't even... Stop it," I spat, surprised at how hard my voice was, even when trembling. My right arm felt like lead as I dragged it underneath me and pressed at the damaged flesh in my palm, latching onto the pain like it was the only thing left in the world.

"Sam?" I heard Dean swear before something hit the wood. "That's it. Get out of the way, Sam." I didn't move. I cracked my eyes open to look at the shadows under the door.

Dad would see me. I bolted into a sitting position and struggled to my feet, ignoring the way that the room faded into dark gray and pulsed with each heartbeat that pushed more blood out of my hand and more pressure into my head.

The door swung open with a loud cracking noise that sent more fire into my skull. I clutched the counter top and forced my eyes to focus.

Dean stood in the doorway, John on his heels. His gaze dropped from my face to my stomach, that now had red staining it, then to my bloody hands. He strode forward and gripped my wrist to inspect the still bleeding cut on my palm.

"Can't leave you alone for one freakin' second," he muttered, grabbing a towel off the counter and pressing it into my hand.

"I didn't-"

"Shut up, Sam," he grunted heatlessly. Dad stood behind him, a calculating frown creasing his face. You could almost see the gears working in his head.

"What happened?" He spoke clearly.

"I cut my hand while looking for my clothes."

Dean's eyes flashed to my bag, taking in what was no doubt a tornado aftermath inside my duffel.

"I shouldn't have left the blade exposed like that," I finished, watching dad over Dean's shoulder. A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled the whispers that made my skin crawl. Dean's head instantly lifted, eyes searching as he inspected my face. My hand stung as he shifted his grip and leaned back down to prod the slice with careful fingers.

"You'll live," he mumbled as he poked at it.

A stone lodged in my stomach, pushing the air out of my lungs.

"_Aw, c'mon, Sam. You know you miss me. Let's sit down. Have a drink. Catch up._" I flinched and pressed my hand harder against Dean's. He let go and cast me a confused frown.

I grabbed my hand, pretending to check the damage, and pressed on the cut until the voice faded. Past Dean, dad watched us warily before disappearing further into the bedroom, coming back with the first aid kit before leaving again. My brother pounced on me instantly.

"Sam, maybe you shouldn't do this. There are triggers everywhere and we haven't even got to the demon yet," he whispered, pressing the towel against my hand again.

"What? Triggers?"

"Yes, Sam, triggers. My diagnosis is that you keep having panic attacks and you keep seeing things that trigger them. You've had basically one every day, for crying out loud. Who knows what going up against the demon will do to you," he responded without looking at me.

"When did you become an expert on this?"

He paused his work for a second. "Since today."

"You did research? On my attacks?" I eased my hand out of his grip and started nursing it myself.

"Yes, can you blame me? I didn't know what the hell was going on. Sam, that needs stitches." I glanced up to his face and shrugged.

"So? I'll do it."

"_What?_"

Okay, it wasn't that ridiculous of an idea, but Dean always patched me up. Even when I could do it myself, he did it. Insisted on doing it. Maybe it was therapy for both of us, but it was always the same. I get hurt, Dean patches me up. He gets hurt... well, he wouldn't let me help him unless there was no other way to address it.

"I'll do it."

"Geez, Sam, I know what you said. I just..." He drifted off, probably realizing he has no good reason why I shouldn't do it, either. Well, except that it was taking way to much willpower to keep myself from trembling. Yeah, that wouldn't turn out well. Dean would probably find out. "Dude, you need both hands to do it."

Crap.

"Dean, I'm fine. It's just a cut." I moved over to the toilet and sat on it, dragging the first aid kit with me. Dean scoffed and followed me to perch on the side of the bathtub.

"I believe you, but you can't sow it up with one hand." I hunched my shoulders, defeated, and held my hand out to him. I tried not to notice the winning smirk he wore as he got started. "So what was it?"

"What was what?"

"Come on, Sam. You can't expect me to believe what you told dad, so what was it?"

"_What was what?_"

"Dude, chill." He shook his head. "Did you have another panic attack? Or did you really just cut your hand while looking for your underwear?" I huffed a laugh and glued my eyes to the floor, shrugging.

"I cut my hands while looking through my bag." I lifted my gaze to give him a pointed look. "That's all."

"Yeah, sure that's all."

"Dean, what do you want me to say? That I had a panic attack? So what? I got it under control."

"Wasn't that easy last time," he said quietly.

"Well it was this time."

I peered at the wound on my hand, thankful for the constant stinging as Dean prepared the needle and thread. If not for that, I'd probably be hearing Stairway to Heaven from behind the shower curtain.

000

I eyed the wrap on my hand, wriggling my fingers to fit it around my palm better. Dad knocked on the door once before inviting himself in and striding to our luggage.

"The signs check out. Salvation, Iowa. Grab your stuff."

Although I knew Dean was still wary of my condition, we both nodded and packed our things, out of the lodge and ready to go in five. Dean started the car and peeled out of the parking lot without a word. As we drove, my mind couldn't help but wonder to Sarah. We didn't take the case in New York cause I'd called Bobby to get someone else to take care of it. Dean didn't know, but it was for the best. Sarah wouldn't die because of us. It was a bitter feeling of relief.

But it wasn't like it mattered. I wouldn't get involved with anyone that I didn't need to. Less people would die and that relief beat the bitterness. Dean would be safer, too, if I left. But if I left, he would get hurt anyway. He would drop his casual act and aquire a deathwish without me there to stop him.

Hopefully Meg would be too caught up in hell to find another vessel and corner dad into giving up the Colt. But another demon could do it... That's why dad called all the friends he could think of and told them to be extra cautious. Dean had surprisingly persuaded him to with a simple 'it wouldn't hurt'. I rubbed my eyes, once again wishing I didn't feel so freakin' tired. I had gotten more sleep than I usually did and I felt more tired than I had before I fell asleep.

"Dude, you look like crap. Get some sleep," Dean piped up, turning his music to a low volume and sending me a glance. I managed a small smile and shook my head.

"I got plenty of- _Dean!_" Dean's eyes shot back to the road just as a beefy, jacked-up pickup raced at us from the right at a crossroads.

The last thing I saw was my own reflection in the metal grate on the front bumper as it slammed into my window.

000

**A/N: Okay, so AGAIN. I just have to say. Please tell me if they do anything/sound out of character. That's just something I struggle with, I think, so I'll take as much help as I get. If it is too big of a difference for their character, I'll edit it and try to notify you to reread it so you know what I changed.**

**Thanks guys. Tell me what'cha think. What do you want to happen next? Do you like the panic attacks? How about John, how do you feel about him?**

**Hope you enjoyed! Apple pie for those who leave reviews! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. Sunday's are always busy for me, and my mom made a rule that we could only be on the computer for 45 minutes before having to take a 30 minute break for exercise or an hour break of non-active stuff, so I don't have as much time to get my act together before I start writing. :/ Monday was busy, I was cooking for almost 6 hours for a birthday party. Yesterday, I was just tired and wanted to chill. **

**I wanted to do more for this chapter, but I knew I needed to update sooner than later, so here it is. Hope Azazel can make an entrance soon. :)**

000 1st Person (Dean)

We should have stayed at the lodge. Given Sam a little time to heal before leaving. It was the first time he'd slept that deep in a long time and I'd hoped he would feel a little better when he woke up, but he looked just as bad, if not worse than before he went to bed. His ribs still needed to heal and he wasn't exactly mentally stable. If it were up to me, he would take it easy for a few weeks while I did the hunting, even stay with him if I had to. He just needed to get himself at least relatively together before he tackled another hunt.

But ever since Jessica, he'd dove right back into hunting with a passion, revenge fueling him, not his wellbeing. And now he had nine years cracking his skull open. Perfect timing, too. Just what he needed.

I was sure that even Sam with his rebellious crusade wished dad had been in front of us when the truck hit. Dad could've ran straight into us if not for his twenty years of hunter reflexes.

I awoke to the sound of metal whining and glass crunching, then a warm hand slamming into my eye socket. Pain spread down my nose, prying my eyes open to the warm sun that reflected off of ebony metal. The hands were on me again, pulling me up against my seatbelt until I could feel hot breath on my face. I squinted to see past the blurry tans and pinks, zeroing in on two dots of coal black.

Crap.

"Wakey, wakey, Dean-o," it said, teeth barred as it eyed my face. Too close. I shoved myself away, ignoring the pain that shot through my neck. Whiplash. Gotta love it.

"What the hell do you want?" I gritted out and glanced over to Sam. Blood leaked out of a gash on his forehead and a few cuts littered his face, but I couldn't see beyond that. "Sam?"

"Good guess."

I jerked my head back to the demon. My vision blurred again, but I could still make out the long blonde locks and the feminine figure underneath a tight bloodred blouse and skinny jeans.

"What?" I blinked dumbly.

"Just wanted to have a little chat with Sammy. Once he wakes up." Its grin widened.

"What are you talking about?" Maybe dad got away. There had to be a good reason why he wasn't already over here kicking this demon's behind back to hell. I strained to see behind me.

"Don't worry. Daddy's taken care of." It swaggered away from me, strutting around the front hood towards Sam's side. Dread pooled in my gut. What did they do to dad?

"You touch him, I swear-"

"Chill. Out. I'm just waking him up," she, it, grumbled and reached through the busted window.

From the looks of it, the backside of the impala took most of the hit, but still managed to crush some of the passenger door. Some of the tension released from my shoulders. It could have been worse. Well, not really.

The demon ducked in through the gap, unfazed by the bits of glass jabbing into its stomach, and leaned its head until it was up against Sam's cheek. It whispered something too quiet for me to hear. I struggled against the suffocating seatbelt, gritting my teeth when it refused to budge and yanking at the base of it.

Sam flinched, pressing back against the seat, straining to put space between himself and the demon girl. He took a deep breath through clenched teeth and winced.

"Sam?" I reached out a hand, only to have it jerk back in front of me, yanked by an invisible force. I swore and went back to trying to get my seatbelt undone. "Sam, you okay?"

"Yeah." He sounded husky and hesitant. I probably would too if I had a demon who didn't know a thing about personal space taking interest in me.

"Nice of you to join us, Sammy," it breathed, smiling at Sam's eyes. Sam smirked and rammed his head forward into its nose, drawing a smile from me at the satisfying crack. The demon staggered back out of the car and reached a hand to stop the flowing blood from its nostrils. A line appeared between Sam's eyebrows, no doubt feeling just as much pain as the demon. Wait, did demons even feel human hits?

"Impatient, are we? You want to get straight to the fun, then? I can do that." She wiped the blood from her lip and shook the hair from her face, narrowing her eyes. Where was dad? "Miles!" she screeched and peered somewhere over the car. "Bring daddy over here. This might take longer than we expected." She ended her sentence by gazing back down at us like we were pot roast.

"What the hell do you want?" I grunted, still working at the nylon strap.

"Down, puppy, I just want to talk with Sam." Something hard hit my side of the car by the passenger door, a quick glance back revealed a familiar brown coat and another figure a few feet from me.

"Dad?"

"You boys okay?" I heard him somewhere behind me, probably pinned to the side of the car.

"Just peachy. We're-"

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas..." Both demons flinched, the blonde reaching forward to curl thin fingers around Sam's throat, hindering the fluent Latin from continuing.

"Azazel said you Winchesters were always after trouble," she spat. "Guess I didn't realize how much you actually were."

"...o-omnis incursio infernalis a-adversarii, omnis legio, et secta diabolica..." Sam rasped, wrenching his head away when the demon faltered. It gagged and trembled for a moment. "Ergo draco maledicte et sectio." That kid. How he managed to memorize the exorcism, I didn't know, but I didn't exactly care, either.

"Stop it!" she rasped through coughs. The demon near dad hacked, but managed to still keep him restrained.

"Stop it!" A male voice. Must be the other demon. "Or I snap your dad's neck."

Sam and I both froze.

"Ah..." The girl cleared her throat and straightened her shirt. "How touching. But I have places to go, people to kill, so let's cut the crap." She leaned down to Sam's eye level, gaze fluttering from me to him. "Sam... Aren't you supposed to be clearing out a vampire's nest right about now? Wasting one of those precious bullets on Dracula?"

Sam's eyebrows furrowed, along with mine, until something like realization dawned on his features, smoothing them out. But he shook his head, tilting it to the side.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you don't have to play coy with me, Sammy. I know what you did."

I glanced to him, our eyes locking for a second. _'Did'?_ Sam shook his head and looked back to the demon.

"What did I do?"

She rolled her eyes and leaned on the door. "You're changing things. It isn't supposed to go this way and you know it." A shark-like grin stretched her red lips as she glanced to me and then behind my seat through the back window to what I assumed was dad. "Have you told them yet, Sam? I assume you know what you're doing. One doesn't simply change destiny without knowing it."

Great. So, somehow this demon knew Sam was screwing with the future.

"Now, the real question is how did you do it? Care to share with the class?"

Sam clenched his jaw, eyes defiant like whenever he and dad would go at it. Except this time he was dancing with a fire pit citizen.

"No? So they don't know?" She ducked her head into the car, trying to meet Sam's gaze that had fluttered somewhere past the windshield and stuck there. "Oh... Guess not. I'm sure they would like to know. Don't you think?" Once Sam refused to meet her eyes, she stood with a sigh and rounded the car, sliding her hand over the hood. I flinched.

For the first time, I noticed my door was a few feet away on the ground, torn from its place. She squatted down next to me.

"Do you know about your brother, Dean? How he changed the future?" She spoke to me like a parent to a child. Unfortunately, she was too far for me to hit her and the stupid seatbelt wouldn't budge. She was probably the one holding it in place. Something blipped beside me.

"Sorry, but the future happens tomorrow, honey. You can't change what hasn't happened yet." I glanced over to Sam, noting he was shielding his body away from me, then narrowed my eyes at the demon. "You bi-"

"So you do know. Interesting..." She tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. "Does daddy know too?" I clenched my jaw and fisted my hands around my restraint. "Hm..." She rose and took a few steps until she was near dad. "Ah, the old man, caught by a few demons. Since your wife died that way, I suppose it's only fair that you do too." I strained to get loose. "A little oil, a few matches... I'll even leave a little trace of sulfur for your hunter friends to pick up on."

A faint beeping noise came from my right again. I glanced over to Sam, eyeing the phone he had in his fingers and the buttons he typed. He pressed them quickly and swiftly. But why the heck was he texting somebody? We were kind of held up by demonic freaks and he just decides to, I don't know, chat with his college buddies?

"Nice gun." The demon went on. "But I think you know a little more than what you've even told your sons, don't you," the demon continued, voice slick like syrup. "Been hunting solo for what killed Mary? Well, if I were you, I'd share a little with your boys. Sam can tell you what he knows, you can tell him what you know. It's a win win."

I stretched to see behind me, catching a glimpse of dad's jeans and the side of his face. The demon raised a hand up to dad's shoulder level.

"Sam. Time to tell us what's up, or I blast daddy's brain all over the car." I stiffened.

"Okay! Okay... Just..." Sam swallowed and shoved the phone deep into his pocket. "Just take it easy. I-"

A sizzling noise hissed through the air, followed by the sounds of the demons crying out. Sam didn't miss a beat.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas..." Feet scuffled behind us, sounds of a struggle. For the gun. More sizzling and groaning, and dad grunting. "... omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica!"

A female voice screamed, then a male's, swirls of black smoke trailing into view and swirling in random circles before disappearing altogether. Hard footsteps approached, breaking through the sound of dad's harsh breathing.

"Dad?" I glanced back.

"I'm alright." Then he was there, checking me over before un-buckling the seatbelt. "Are you hurt?" I shook my head and ducked out of the car, fighting a wave of vertigo and heading over to Sam's side even as another figure approached us.

"John!" it called. "Hey... You guys okay? I got Sam's message and came over as soon as I could..." Elkins. A bright green and orange gun was held across his stomach. His gaze swept over the impala. "...demons..." He held up the plastic weapon. "Water blaster. A little holy water and they're blistering... Where's Sam?"

"In the car," dad responded, moving behind me. Fortunately, the demons had gone in reverse a few inches or something, because there was a small gap between the truck and the right side of the car. The door took some encouragement, but dad and I got it unlatched.

"You okay, dude?" I grabbed the nape of Sam's neck as dad cut the seatbelt off. Sam nodded, eyes closed as he swallowed. He took a deep breath and looked up at me.

"Yeah. You?"

"Awesome." I prodded the cut on his temple, satisfied that it wouldn't need stitches even if he hissed when I touched it and swayed as I stood him up. "You seein' two of me?" He lifted his gaze to me, eyes glassy as they struggled to focus. "Feel nauseous?"

"M'fine, Dean. It's just a mild concussion."

I sighed a examined him for a second. He was probably right. He'd have a headache for a couple of days, but would straighten out soon enough. Maybe the concussion would be enough to convince him to settle down and take it easy for a bit. With a nod, we moved over to dad's truck. Dad didn't say a word, but I could feel his eyes on us the entire time and his hands hovering, ready for anything.

I was thankful he wasn't asking about what the demon was talking about. Whether he believed them or not, I didn't know, but either way, he had to have questions. But maybe just this once, he would manage to keep his mouth shut for Sam.

My back and neck protested with each wrong step, but not enough for me to stop. We made it to the truck and Sam eased into the passenger side.

"Dude, you've gotta be a trouble magnet or something, I swear..." I muttered, looking him over again. He smiled and shook his head.

"... or something..." He said quietly, voice wavering slightly. I pretended not to notice.

Daniel came up behind us. "I'll call a tow truck."

"Daniel, we need to get out of here."

I twisted my head to get a better look at dad. Elkins paused and then nodded.

"Okay, I'll get a tow truck for the car and the boys can use my wrangler. You can come back and get the car whenever it's safe; I can even fix it up if you want."

Dad looked surprised, but not too surprised. He was never too surprised. He gave a curt nod. "I owe you."

"Mm... You can stop by some other time when I need a favor. Now get outta here. Stop by my place on your way out. The jeep's in the old garage. She hasn't been used in a while, but she should still work. You boys be careful with her. I don't think I'll need her for a while, so you just stop by whenever you have the time and get your ride fixed up." Elkins gave us a small grin and cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder.

Sam exchanged a look with me. "Thank you." He spoke for all of us. Daniel quirked another smile.

"Your welcome... Now get going." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and started marching back towards his place. A few feet out, he pulled out his cell.

Dad and I loaded into the car. We made a quick U turn and sped down the road.

000

The jeep wasn't the nicest, but it wasn't the worst either. It needed a good car wash, but the seats were pretty comfortable and everything seemed to be working. Sam crashed into the passenger seat and fell asleep almost as soon as we pulled out of the driveway. I was relieved, but also slightly concerned. But that didn't matter. I let him sleep.

Truth be told, I wished we could stop by Bobby's and just take a break before we went after this thing. Not for my sake, but for Sam's. You could only go so long without enough fuel in your tank before you broke down, and Sam had been running on empty for who knows how long. We needed a break for him to recharge. How would we find this thing one hunter down? We couldn't go without Sam, he deserved to be in on this hunt.

He needed to rest and get his strength back. God forbid a little food in his system. I glanced across the dashboard.

We had been asleep for breakfast, and I kind of forgot about lunch. I'd already been driving for a while and it was almost six o'clock about food time by my watch. The green sign on the side of the road said a few more miles to the next stop.

An object on the dash beeped, vibrating in place, then going quiet. The small screen lit up. Sam's cell.

Making sure he was still asleep, I leaned over and snatched it off the dashboard, reading the screen. Missed call. Now who would be calling Sam? Who even had his number to call him? The object blipped again, new text appearing. 1 New Voicemail. I shrugged and flipped it open. Couldn't hurt... as long as Sam didn't wake up.

_'Sam? It's Bobby. I think I found some of those omens you were talkin' about. Near Salvation, Iowa. Be sharp, you hear? Call me back.'_ The phone beeped in my ear, signaling the recording was over. I frowned at the road as I flipped it shut and set it back on the dash.

So, Sam was updating Bobby? Was that what all the phone calls were about? What else had he told Bobby?

With a sigh, I turned up the soft rock station to a medium volume and tried to focus on the road ahead. We would find this demon and we would kill it. I'd much rather kill it slowly and painfully, but I just wanted it to be over. I needed it to be over. I wouldn't give it any chances to get away. This thing would die and it would die no matter what.

I sent a quick text to dad, telling him we were gonna take the nearest exit and break for lunch. Hopefully dad still remembered we preferred Wendy's over Mcdonalds.

A startled gasp to my right sounded Sam's awakening. He shifted in his seat, blinking repeatedly before settling back into the cushion.

"Hey. M'gonna stop at a Wendy's; what d'you want?" I glanced over at him while sliding over into the exit, taking in the disheveled hair, dark rings under his eyes, pale face, sharp cheekbones and once again swore we would kill the demon. Sam frowned at the dash, pocketed his cell phone, and squinted past the windshield.

"Uh, the Ceasar side salad?" He grimaced and slid lower in the seat. I raised my eyebrows and did a double take. Sam was actually going to eat? In a car? When he finally did eat, we usually ate inside or at a motel, at his request. I kept my eyes peeled for the red sign and shrugged.

"Anything else?" There it was.

"Water?" I nodded and rolled into the drive-thru. I would order him some apple slices, just in case he was feeling lucky. I ordered our food and left quickly, back on the road under ten minutes. As Sam dug through the bags, I adjusted the radio to some of the classical crap that usually settled his headaches. It was either that or soft rock and we'd been listening to the latter for more than a few hours already.

"How're the ribs doing?" I asked, grabbing the burger Sam handed me and unwrapping it.

"Been better," he mumbled and popped the lid off of his salad, eyeing it critically.

I bit into the meat and bun, not really tasting it.

"You know dad will have questions," he whispered, flipping a piece of lettuce across the container. "He knows demons lie, but I didn't exactly outright deny anything."

"Well, you said he finds out anyway. Why don't we just tell him?"

"He finds out about my premonitions, but not... this." He sighed and put the lid back onto his food, opening the apple slices instead.

"We'll figure out something," I reassured, not taking my eyes off of the road. Sam nodded hesitantly and crunched on some apple. Hopefully he wouldn't hurl in Elkins' car.

000

**A/N: Sorry not much happened. I just figured I needed to update. :/ Hope you enjoyed it, though. Regrettably, this was more of a filler chapter, but it was still essential. We needed to find out that demons were onto them, that they were headed to Iowa. Hope the next chapter has more happening in it, though.**

**Critiques are welcomed. **

**PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR THE WAIT! :D**

**Salt and holy oil to those who review! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Okay, here it is! I love all of your reviews, they really make my day and encourage me not to let this story drop like I have so many others. So thank you so much! 3 **

**I researched symptoms of sleep deprivation, PTSD, malnutrition and some crazy stuff can happen, so SAM BETTER START TAKING CARE OF HIMSELF OR ELSE. :P **

**Anyways, hope you enjoy!**

000 1st Person (Sam)

Surprisingly, I kept a few apple slices down. Each time they threatened to come up, I locked my eyes on the horizon and focused on the guitar strums of Led Zeppelin. If not for the weak muscles on my face and everywhere else, I would have even hummed a long with Dean. But even expanding my lungs seemed like an effort; like there was a weight on my chest. By the way Dean kept glancing over at me with frowning eyes, I figured he hadn't failed to notice it either. My eyelids kept drooping and it was getting harder to keep the edges of my vision from blurring.

Concussions sucked. It wasn't like being in an unfamiliar car helped with my ribs either. The impala's passenger seat was always shaped just right to fit my frame and cradle my wounds. At least the music was familiar. And the person next to me.

"Dude, just go to sleep already," Dean piped, adjusting the volume. I huffed a laugh.

"That bad?"

"You like like you just went one on one with a brick wall," he retorted and looked over to me again.

"No, just a truck." I rubbed my forehead, careful not to touch the cut above my right eyebrow, and tried to ignore the ache in my sides. Another bump on the road jerked my head to the side. My eyes drifted closed as I let it lull.

"Sam?"

I shot away from the seat and curled forward as my stomach caught on fire. My gaze bounced around the interior, grazing over the clock which read one o'clock and then the pale streetlight amidst the darkness outside. Someone or something moved to my left. I scrambled against the door, fingers flailing to find the latch and escape the threat, but my head spun, slowing my movements.

"Sam! Calm down, it's just me, it's Dean!"

I froze, my fingers locked around the door handle. I lifted my eyes and squinted through the blurry blackness in front of me. Dean. It was Dean. I let myself relax against the window, the adrenaline rush fading fast, leaving me exhausted and fighting for breath.

"Sorry... Where are we?" I breathed and scrubbed a hand down my face. This wasn't the impala. But Dean was still driving us somewhere. What did that mean?

"Sydney, Nebraska." I could hear the calculations spinning in his head and feel his eyes on me. "Dude, you okay?"

"Sydney? Why the hell are we in Sydney?" We were in... where were we before? I eyed the figure beside me, suspicion flooding my gut. Maybe this wasn't Dean. We were in a different car. Were we really even in Nebraska? Why weren't we in the impala? "Christo."

It may have been dark, but the street lamp lit us up enough for me to see the confused frown pinch Dean's expression.

"What the..? Sam, I'm not a demon. What's wrong with you?" He stretch a hand out to me and I flinched away. He faltered. I almost thought he would retreat altogether, but his hand continued forward until it rested on my forehead.

"I... The..." I swallowed convulsively against sudden nausea and coughed.

Oh...

The past couple days dawned on me, memories crashing back into consideration. No wonder my ribs hurt. And my head...

"Sam?"

"I... I'm good... Where's dad?" I glanced out the windshield to the parking lot of the motel, searching for dad's vehicle. The black truck molded into the shadows in the corner of the lot; dad was either in the building or somewhere else.

"Checking us in..." The analyzing glower hadn't left Dean's face, but he opened his door and slipped out then leaned down to peer back into the car. Before he could start his mother henning, I shoved my door open and rose out of my seat. My stiff muscles contracted, buckling my knees as the blood rushed from my face. The asphalt hit my knees first, then my side as I pitched forward with a groan and moved my hands underneath my chest to lever myself up.

"Whoa, Sammy." Hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up until I stood on uneasy feet. "Bedtime for you, kiddo."

"Jus' got up too fast..." Except the ground kept tipping as I swayed to meet it again. His hands held tighter. My chest felt heavy again, along with my head. My whole body felt heavy and my ribs throbbed. I fumbled to grip his arm and took a step towards the motel. My limbs didn't want to cooperate and my leg buckled again. Dean pulled me back up before I could hit the ground, hand bracing my chest.

"Easy there, tiger." He ushered me to the front bumper and set me down on it. The cool metal grounded me for a moment, my surroundings steadying. "I'm gonna grab our bags. You're gonna stay there, you hear me?" I nodded and tried to keep myself upright when he let go and moved around to the back of the car.

Why couldn't I even stand by myself? Always a freakin burden. Some things would never change. A silhouette melted into sight, making me jump and slide further against the impala.

"Sam?" Dad's voice. Tainted with concern, but still gruff and hard. He got closer and looked somewhere behind me. "Dean?"

"Help me get him to the room?" Dean asked, stepping back into view with duffels slung over his shoulder. I shook my head and shakily got to my feet, determination fueling my movements. Dean hovered next to me. Although weary, I managed to stay on my feet and even shuffle forward a few steps.

Luckily, we weren't too far from the room and we made it there relatively quickly, all things considered. My lungs burned by the time I crashed in bed, but I hadn't fainted or anything.

Dad and Dean moved around the room, staying quiet, probably for my sake. I drifted off to sleep without difficulty.

000

_'I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay?'_

_'Yeah, dad, you know I will... You're scaring me.'_

_'Don't be scared, Dean.'_

_'Okay, stop compressions.'_

_'Still no pulse.'_

_'Okay, that's it everybody.'_

_'I'll call it. Time of death: 10:41 am.'_

_Then fire. And blood. And screams._

Something clicked, jerking me out of slumber suddenly, but not violently. My eyelids instinctively popped open, revealing creamy tan wallpaper. I could almost see the flames sprouting behind golden locks, bright orange reflecting in dark hazel orbs. I blinked the heat away and glanced around the room.

Dean, hand still on the doorknob, watched me carefully, a paper bag clutched loosely in his hand. He let out something akin to a sigh and moved across the room to the table. "Got some breakfast." I swallowed and pushed myself into a sitting position, my limbs feeling like lead. The smell of oil and eggs and sausages filled the room almost instantly, but the aroma flipped uncomfortably in my stomach. Dean turned around, a small styrofoam container in one hand and a banana in the other. He set the objects down in front of me on the bed without a word and turned back to the bag. I went for the fruit first.

"That's chicken noodle soup, if you're up for it," he said, back turned towards me.

"Thanks." My stomach settled once I'd taken a few bites and my gaze turned to the soup. I tried not to focus on the smell as I took the lid off and grabbed the spoon Dean tossed to me.

"This is what real men eat, Sammy," came Dean's voice. I lifted my head to see him grinning happily at his eggs and sausage, a large bite already stuffed into his mouth. "Not that rabbit food you always get." My gut twisted at the words, but I scoffed and took a bite of the broth anyways.

"Yeah. Sure. You know half of that isn't even made with real meat." The cup was still warm and I held it close, drawing in the heat. Dean shrugged and took another bite.

"Whatever, Sammy."

I smirked and sipped on my soup. "Where's dad?"

Dean paused, eyes staring at the empty air above the floor. "He, uh, went for a walk." I frowned and leaned forward, ignoring the hot knives in my sides. Dad never just went on a walk. He always had something to do, a goal in mind.

"Dean. _Where's dad?_"

He swallowed and set his food on the table, leaning back in the chair and staring at the curtained window. "I told you, Sam, he went for a walk. Needed some air."

"Dad doesn't just go out for morning strolls, Dean. What happened?" I set the soup down next to my leg and slid over to the edge of the bed. My thighs felt heavy and sore, just like everything else.

"Sam, just..." He tipped his head to the side and glanced over to me. "Look, I told him I thought it would be best to take it easy for a while. He didn't exactly agree with that." A sigh aired out through his nose as he turned back to the window.

"Wait, what? Take it easy, what does that mean? Stay here?"

"No... I thought we could go to Bobby's and-"

"And what? Let Azazel get away? Dean, we can't do that. This needs to happen, we need to go to Iowa." I couldn't let things change too much. Or else I wouldn't know how to prevent other things from happening. I would lose track.

"Dude, you can barely walk! You can't keep doing this to yourself, you need food, sleep, _actual sleep,_ and... and to _not hunt._"

"Dean." He glanced over at me and stood, curling his fists around the back of the chair. "We need to do this. We need to kill the demon. If we don't, we..." I rubbed my hands down my face before pressing them together between my knees. We couldn't let Azazel get away. It wasn't an option for me.

"We can kill it when you've got your head screwed on straight!"

"Dean, we can't just let him get away! He'll kill more innocent people and..." I shook my head, clenching my jaw until my teeth hurt.

"Sam. You can barely stay vertical. There is no way in hell you are going after this thing and coming out on top. Either we take a break or we take you to Bobby's and dad and I will go after it."

I hadn't even noticed he moved, but now he sat across from me on the edge of the other queen mattress, elbows rested on his knees.

"What? That's your genius plan? Dean, _Azazel kills dad._"

"I know that! But not in Iowa, right?"

"I need to be in on this hunt, Dean. This is the thing that screwed our family from day one and you just want to leave me at Bobby's while you and dad go kill it? _If_ you kill it?"

"I know it sucks, Sam, but you can't do this. Not that you won't cause I know you will, but you can't. You need to get yourself together, man, heal." His eyes were too intense for me to lock with, so I stared at the curtains instead, fiddling with the bandage on my hand.

"_I will not sleep,_ Dean._ I can not sleep._ Not until we right at least one of the wrongs in our screwed up life! I need this! _We_ need this! Don't you-" The door vibrated once against someone's knuckles from outside and then opened halfway for dad to slip in. He lingered by the doorway, hesitating slightly before entering. Dean and I both stood simultaneously out of habit. Bad idea. Pain shot up my injured side as my stiff muscles stretched. I caught myself on the nightstand before I could collapse, but the room around me faded to pulsing black, blinking in and out of color.

Well crap. That wasn't going to help my case.

I didn't even realize I was swaying until I felt a hand steady me.

"Sam?" He sounded muffled, but it was definitely Dean. Of course it was Dean. It was never anyone else. I blinked, willing my eyes to focus. Dean was talking again, but I wasn't listening. The world stopped inverting and my body felt heavy again, threatening my knees to bend.

"M'good." I took a deep breath and forced my body to straighten, ignoring the jarring pain in my abs that insisted I fold.

"Yeah, you're just great." I caught Dean exchanging a look with dad, no doubt an 'I told you so' look. He ushered me to sit down and I complied, even though I probably wouldn't be able to get back up again.

"Dean, I'm fine. I just stood up to fast."

"Standing up too fast shouldn't knock someone out," he muttered and backed away to the edge of his own bed.

"Your brother's right. Just relax, Sam." Dad strode over to the table, pulling the chair closer to us before taking a seat. "We need to talk." Dean eyed dad before seating himself. I took a deep breath and hunched my shoulders forward, tugging the bandage around my hand again. By the silence, dad probably assumed we knew exactly what he was talking about. We did.

"'Kay... Guess I'll get straight to the point." Dean raised his eyebrows. "... I have these visions. They started before Jessica... They were dreams at first. Then I started having them while I was awake. Premonitions of people dying... They're usually accompanied with headaches, but they don't last very long. A minute here while I see maybe... half an hour."

Dad's face had darkened as he glanced between us, eyes hard and cold as they watched me. "When were you going to tell me about this?"

"We weren't exactly sure how to tell you," I replied, wincing when dad angled himself to face Dean.

"You knew about this?"

"Dad, what were we supposed to say? I mean, this isn't exactly normal. We were just as confused as you," Dean explained, fisting his hands together in front of him, elbows planted on his knees again.

"'Were'?"

I shifted in place, rubbing my hands together. "That's the thing... I... Before Chicago, I had another vision. Dream... I dreamed of our future. Years into our future." Explaining it a second time came easier, especially with Dean at my back. I didn't know what dad would say if he found out what we come to, though. What we might become. But I would start small. "We... Uh, Dean only found out a few days ago," I added. For Dean's sake.

Dad blanched and dropped his gaze to the floor. If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked like a deer caught in headlights. Who knew what scenarios where going through his head, all the possibilities of what could happen in our future. We would find out his secrets. At least some of them, but he didn't know that.

"How many years?"

Nothing got past dad. Or Dean.

"Nine," I said quietly, feeling more confident than before. But would dad kill me? He warned Dean to do it. If he found out about what I was, what I would do... I swallowed and caught Dad's eyes flickering back to me.

"That's what that demon was talking about? You changed the future?"

"Yeah, but I changed the future before. Those other visions, we saved people that would have died... But I guess these are bigger... More... important events that I'm changing."

Dad always looked like a stone wall, but now I could see something crumbling behind his eyes. He sat rigid, but something had broken. Nothing new, I supposed. Only he knew how many walls had broken in his life. With mom. Hunting. Raising us to be killers. Me leaving for Stanford...

"We kill the demon." I wanted to say more, but I couldn't think of the right words. What was I supposed to tell him? That he came back as a spirit, a ghost or something, and restrained Azazel while Dean shot him? That he died for Dean and left behind a secret that ate him from the inside out?

My head ached surprisingly little at the words. I hadn't said much, though. Dad looked up at us, nodding slowly, the empty look still haunting his eyes. "You, uh... have any questions?" I asked hesitantly. Dad barked a bitter laugh and sighed deeply.

"Damn straight, I have questions." I nodded and bit the inside of my cheek.

"Anything in particular, then?" Geez, we sounded too... too normal having this conversation. This wasn't supposed to be normal! Then again, when were we ever normal? I was a freak from the beginning. I was cursed. I was the curse. If Azazel hadn't come for me, mom, dad and Dean would all be eating homemade pancakes with orange juice and watching tv marathons every Saturday night.

Dad clenched his jaw and got quiet, choosing his words carefully. "You said we kill the demon. What do we do after that?"

'We'. I blinked at him and swallowed the lump in my throat.

"We, uh..."

My phone rang. Thank God, my phone rang. Dean flinched and glanced over to the device on the nightstand. With a quick look to dad, I leaned over and grabbed it, flipping it open and holding to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Sam? It's Bobby. Dammit, I told you to call me back, boy." He sounded exasperated and worried and it couldn't help but warm a place in my chest. I rubbed the back of my neck and loosened my grip on the phone.

"You did? When?" I pulled the phone away to check the screen then returned it to my ear.

"I left a voicemail, ya idjit. Don't you know how to check your phone?"

"Yeah, of course, but... I didn't get a voicemail. You sure you left one?" Dean straightened his back, eyes rounding before retreating to look to the carpet. I narrowed my gaze at him and licked my lips.

"Of course I'm sure! I may be old, but I work with these things all day every day. Check yer phone." I shook my head and pressed the speaker harder against my ear.

"What did you need to tell me?" The old hunter sighed deeply on the other end and something rustled nearby.

"Those demonic omens, there were a few near Salvation, Iowa."

"Yeah, yeah... We, uh, we noticed. We were just headed there." Dad leaned forward, eyes searching as he strained to hear. Dean still looked like he wanted to crawl under the bed.

"Well, there's some more. Most of it seems to be brewing around North Platte, Nebraska. Some severe electrical storms and temperature fluctuations."

I got to my feet, slowly this time, still ignoring my stupid side pains, and strode over to the door, jerking it open and peeking outside. My heart beat loudly against my ribcage from the effort and I, again, wished for food that would actually stay in my stomach. Dark clouds shadowed the east, large bursts of lightning stretching across the length of them.

"That's a little over a hundred miles from here, Bobby."

"... Balls!"

"They were near Iowa before, right? So... were there any before that? Any omens before Iowa?"

"Yeah. Some cattle mutilations and temperature changes in..." More rustling. "Butler, Pennsylvania. Nothing severe, but enough to make the list... You think somethin' is comin' for ya?"

I sighed and returned into the room. Dad and Dean both were on their feet now, watching me as I locked the door. "I don't know. Maybe. But I'm thinking we should head over to North Platte. Thanks Bobby."

"You and your brother be careful."

"Yeah... yeah, we will. Thank you." I cradled the phone by my head even as the other end went dead.

"Sam?" Dad watched me carefully, Dean mirroring him. "North Platte?"

I broke out of my stupor and moved to our luggage. "More omens."

"What about Iowa?" Dean snatched my bag before I could and then his own, hefting both over his shoulder and ignoring my glare. I didn't miss the fact that Dean grabbed our food before stepping towards the door.

"I'm thinking it's the same thing, just closer."

Dad grabbed his own duffel and we headed outside towards our vehicles.

"You mean it moved?" Dean said from behind me. I tossed a look over my shoulder and shrugged.

"Maybe." Dad tossed his bag into the passenger seat of his truck while Dean and I put ours in the backseat of the wrangler.

"... Was it supposed to move?" Dad asked, leaning against the side of his truck.

"No. We were supposed to see it in Iowa." I sighed and set my forearms on the roof of the car, washing my hands down my face on the way. They nodded, saying nothing. They didn't have to say it... What good was my vision if it didn't help us fix anything? I shook my head and pushed myself off of the car, stumbling back a few steps before regaining my balance.

"To North Platte?" Dean looked to dad expectantly, who nodded and rounded around to get into his truck. I slipped into the passenger seat, thankful to get off my feet. Dean hopped in next to me, flipping on Asia as he pulled out of the parking lot. The window felt chilled as I leaned my head against it. It sent shivers down my spine, but my muscles refused to hold themselves up unless they were needed and my body craved sleep.

This was not good. Those two demons knew about my vision, so why wouldn't Azazel? I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my hands into fists. This hunt was being set up for failure. Again.

000

**A/N: So, tell me whatcha think! Please? Pretty please? :D**

**Tell me what you want to see more of, what you want to see less of, eh?**

**I don't know /exactly/ how things will unfold, but I got this idea yesterday. It's really bad but really exciting and I just feel bad for wanting to do it at the same time as loving it. :P I will use the idea, but... DX**

**So, leave a review, my hunters, and you shall get some of Jess's cookies! ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Yes. I know. This is beyond late. But my creative juices have been less than flowing. I've just felt really stressed this last week or two. Hopefully, I can figure out how to make it fuel my writing, rather than staunch it.**

**Anyway, here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it. I'm hoping for some crazy crap to go down next chapter.**

000 1st Person (Dean)

By the time we arrived, the horizon was covered in a gray haze of water as it flooded down into the gutters and ditches. The sky stayed a smokey color, aside from the constant strikes of electricity lighting them up. I drove on dad's tail as we entered the city, pulling up next to him when he parked at a small coffee shop, most likely to get out of the rain and figure out what to do next. I glanced over to Sam as I put the jeep in park and took in his drooping stature and mussed hair, the dark shadows under his eyes and his sunken face, his fluttering eyelids and shallow breaths. To say the least, the kid looked like crap. He hadn't even finished his brunch.

I sighed and prepared myself for the monsoon outside. With a deep breath, I jerked the door open and catapulted myself out into the rain. My clothes were practically soaked even as I rounded over to Sam's side and opened his door before he could, pulling him to his feet and ushering him inside. He weakly swatted my hands away and shuffled into the warm building.

The place was cozy with red and tan hues, hanging lamps with dim lights and cushioned booths along the walls. The blonde middle-aged waitress at the counter smiled at us as we entered, upturned lips falling slightly when she noticed our dripping clothes. Probably was the hundredth time someone would have to mop the floor by the doorway.

"Take a seat, I'll be with you in a minute," she told us, pearly whites flashing to accent her subtle drawl. The seats were relatively comfortable, but most of all, warm. The place was bustling comfortably, customers filing in to get out of the chilled storm and treat themselves to a hot drink and lunch. I sunk down into the seat across from dad and scooted over to let Sam slide next to me. He burrowed into his jacket, though it was sopping wet, and started rubbing his hands together.  
>Our situation wasn't exactly something you'd find out of the Andy Griffith Show, but I grinned despite myself at Tina, the waitress, and ordered a large espresso, punctuating my sentence with a small wink as she turned to Sam. Worry lines creased her forehead and her grip on her pen tightened. Not threateningly, I noticed, but confused. Sam shrugged and asked for something to wake him up. Dad asked for an americano, gaze clinging to the woman warily as she retreated to the counter.<p>

Sam listed forward against the table, his eyelids fluttering as they struggled to win the battle between sleep and awareness. I worked my jaw and clasped my hands in front of me.

"Sam?" I shifted my elbow to poke at his arm, raising my eyebrows when he flinched away from me and brought up his arm to deflect a non-existent blow. His sluggish movements wouldn't have done much to protect himself anyways. The gray shadows under Sam's eyes darkened as he tilted his head and squinted at me as if through smoke. I sighed and resisted rolling my eyes. "What next, professor?" I knew what was next. We would scour the town for anything suspicious, check the newspapers, search for anything demon related, exchange information over the phone and perhaps meet up at a motel where we would form a plan. At least, that's what I expected of Sam. Dad was too quiet for me to decipher what he wanted, but with his disappearance before, he would probably want to hunt the thing himself.

As much as I wanted this hunt; as much as we needed this, I couldn't shake the feeling that Sam _couldn't_ do this. He had already reached his mental, physical and emotional peak at it was only a matter of time before he plummeted, falling further than I could reach. Hell, I could barely reach him as it was.

Sam opened his mouth to answer, response dying on his lips as he searched for words, clamping his mouth shut when he failed to find any. He swallowed hard and looked away. Tina rounded the counter, platter in hand with three drinks and something else that I couldn't make out. A warm but nervous smile spread across her cheeks as she approached, her hand a little shaky as it slid the coffees onto the table. The unknown delivery steamed fresh with an aroma that moistened my tongue. Golden rolls in a woven basket landed in the center of the table.

"On the house." She licked her lips, casting another glance to Sam. "Fresh outta the oven. Hope you fellas stay long enough to warm yourselves up; that storm is nasty."

Ah ha. I got it. Sammy never failed to reel in the old and the young whenever he got that lost, wounded puppy look. And the fact that he was obviously sleep and food deprived received bonus points from any female that noticed. I grinned at Sam and then Tina, taking a sip from my cup. The hot liquid shocked my nerves with its near scorching temperature, but I swallowed and let the heat spread in my stomach. Ah, yes. That was a good cup o' Joe. Nothing like hot coffee on a rainy day. I peeked out the window and sighed contentedly. 'Rainy' was probably an understatement.

"Thanks," I replied, snatching a roll and taking a large bite from it. I could almost hear my taste buds singing the Hallelujah Chorus. "These are amazing." Pink crept onto Tina's cheeks and she offered another smile.

"Well, I'm glad. You boys enjoy, you hear? You stay as long as you need." She turned with another quick look to Sam and hurried away. I shook my head and took another gulp of my caffeine, frowning at Sam's small sips and failure to even acknowledge the bread. I jabbed him with my elbow again.

"Dude. She practically made them for you, don't waste 'em." To further emphasize my point, I bit down on the fluffy crust and chewed loud enough to pop my jaw. A ghost of a smile quirked Sam's lips at the same time as he rolled his eyes, reaching forward to grab one and nibble on it. Dad only nursed his beverage, gaze pinned to some spot on the wall behind us.

A stifling silence dropped over us, similar in fashion to the relentless downpour outside and I almost embraced my sudden claustrophobia as a way of escape. I nudged Sam to stand and I quickly slid out.

"Nature calls," I explained before striding towards the 'Restroom' sign. I took my time, inhaling the various scents of coffee as they floated throughout the building and into my nostrils, sending happy bells ringing in my head.

The bathroom was surprisingly in order, but one look at the narrow stalls had me splashing water on my face at the sinks. I didn't need another small space to suffocate me. The water did little to ease my nerves, but I left the faucet on for at least two minutes, avoiding eye contact with my reflection.

With a deep breath, I took a few steps back and leaned against the wall, thinking about how messed up our lives were, not for the first or last time, and trying to keep myself together. I didn't know how dad did it. It seemed no matter what happened to us, he never cracked. A few glimpses here and there, but that was it. He somehow managed to keep his walnut from cracking for twenty years, I could do it for a few months.

Composing myself, I set my mouth in a straight line and retreated from the bathroom. My gaze involuntarily landed on dad's face and the back of Sam's head as the door swung closed behind me, picking up on the shine in his eyes before they flickered to me. I spotted the swallowing motion in his neck before his gaze darted back to Sam, all trace of the previous look masked behind a stoney determination. Well, I'd certainly missed something. I made my way back over to the table and dropped down next to Sam.

"What'd I miss?" I exchanged glances with the two of them, but both seemed set on acting as nonchalant as possible and I didn't exactly have the reason for prying when we had a demonic bastard to catch.

"Nothin'," Sam replied, taking a long sip from his styrofoam cup. I let my eyes linger on him long enough for him to squirm before nodding and turning back to dad, question already on my lips.

"Okay, so I'm thinking newspaper articles, at least of the last two weeks. Maybe ask the locals about anything strange, when and where. We need to find out where this S.O.B. is camping." Sam looked startled for a moment before nodding and dad appeared to finally break out of whatever daydream he was having and looked me in the eyes.

"I'll drive around town, stop by a few of the local hangouts and see what I can find," he said and eyed his coffee almost suspiciously.

"Okay, I'll see if Tina knows anything... Sam, you good with finding those newspapers?"

Sam gave me a small nod and swallowed. "Yeah. I'll see what I can find at the library." I bobbed my head in return and gestured outside.

"Use the car. Call me if you find anything. Dad?"

He glanced at the clock by the door.

"We'll regroup at three," he said, then continued to explain which motel to go to. Sam and I both responded with a terse 'yes sir' and stood to our feet. I didn't miss the way Sam swayed before inching out of the booth and towards the door. He gave me a look over his shoulder before disappearing out into the rain again. Dad looked surprisingly at ease as he stood, jaw set and posture speaking undertones of lethal energy waiting to be expelled.

"Be careful," I warned quietly. He nodded and strode out the door. I let out a deep sigh and turned towards the counter, searching for the familiar waitress. Her eyes locked with mine and she gave a genuine smile.

Alright. Time to turn on the charm.

000

All of southern Nebraska had been hot and dry for the most of the summer, barely any rain beyond a few days of sprinkles, so the sudden rainstorm and drop in temperature was a surprise to say the least. Most of the people in North Platte were in a panic as the lower parts of town grew puddles of water in the ditches and curbs, gradually rising as the onslaught of rain continued. Even a few streets had closed off due to flooding.

The lightning had also been a problem. Three people already struck by it, one hospitalized and the other two dead. Large sections of town had continuous on and off power, the streetlamps flickering and even a few trees burnt to crisps.

I asked Tina where the closest library was and thanked her for her help before I regrettably ducked out into the storm, my almost dry clothes quickly becoming saturated again.

A few blocks over and I spotted the familiar jeep wrangler in the parking lot of the library and jogged alongside it as I approached the front doors. A high-pitched ding announced my entrance, the small bell above ringing shrill through the quiet atmosphere of the building. The young woman at the front desk scowled through her glasses at the water dripping onto the carpet and I hastily stepped behind a bookshelf to escape her critical gaze. Something hissed further down the aisle.

"Dean!" it whispered. I moved to the end of the shelf and spotted the dark mop of hair a few paces down. Sam, seated at one of the computers, waved me over.

"You find something?" I planted myself at his back, peering over his shoulder at the screen.

"Yeah. Cattle mutilations. Most recently, five days ago. Before that, three days in a row the previous week. Any crop that was still alive died within a two mile radius of the town before the flooding started. Nothing to help us find out where it is exactly though... No visions yet." I could feel the muscles in his shoulders radiating with tension next to my face as he continued to click and type. "M'looking up all the kids who were born six months ago today. Not a lot to go on, but it's something."

"Wait, what?"

"These omens, they usually tell us where the demon is, right? He came for me on my six month birthday, same as Max. So if I'm right, which I am, the demon will be after another family, or more specifically, a baby who just turned six months," he explained, eyes not leaving the illuminated monitor.

"That's gotta be a lot of options, Sam." I straightened and pulled the nearest chair behind him and took a seat.

"It is, but it's better than nothing." He sighed and leaned back in his chair, scratching his head before crossing his arms across his injured ribs. "Anything from dad?"

"Not yet. I talked to Tina. Basically, just confirmed what we already know: this storm definitely ain't normal." My back twinged, reminding me of my busted impala and prompting me to lean forward until my elbows rested on my knees. Sam nodded, forehead creasing with frown lines as the gears twisted inside his brain.

The coffee appeared to have woken him up somewhat, at least to a working degree. The bruises under his eyes still showed for it, but at least his brain was functioning. After we took care of the hunt, he was taking a long nap.

"So how're we gonna find the right house?" I asked, hoping he'd have an answer but not counting on it.

He shrugged and leaned over the notepad to the left of the keyboard. "Don't know. We'll have to check all of them, I guess." I raised my eyebrows, sliding forward until I knew he could see me out of his peripheral vision.

"'Check all of them'? How're we supposed to do that?" There had to be dozens of addresses and even if we could check all of them, what was gonna tell us which one was the right one? It wasn't like the demon had a big neon sign pointing at it.

Sam shrugged again and scribbled another name and address into his notes.

"Perfect. Sounds like a plan," I scoffed and shifted in my chair.

"Maybe dad'll find something," he offered, eyes not leaving the lined paper as he continued to write something down. I furrowed my brows and leaned back in the chair. Yeah, we're totally professionals. I let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled to my feet, giving a quick glance to my surroundings and then Sam.

"Well, gimme the addresses you do have. I'll check 'em out."

His gaze lifted, analytical eyes boring into mine, before he gave a slight nod and ripped the top page out of his notebook, extending it out to me. I grabbed it and observed it.

"What do you think you'll find?" he asked.

"I dunno... I guess I'll know it if I see it. You good without the car?" I eyed his stance, trying to determine the answer.

His body was hunched a little more than usual. Breaths were thin and short, shoulders rigid, but his head rested in the palm of his left hand as he wrote more names and numbers down, as if he couldn't keep it upright without the extra support. The dark rings above his cheekbones looked more prominent now that he was in a well-lit room, although his eyes looked surprisingly clearer than the past month. He still looked too thin and far from good, but it wasn't like he needed to be somewhere. I would pick him up when I finished.

His small but firm nod tugged me out of my assessing. I nodded back and strode towards the exit.

000

The list was surprisingly short. Even though he wasn't finished, I had expected more than the two names that were inked onto the paper. But hey, I wasn't complaining.

The first house was small and plain. A two story square building, the only break in peeling white color of it on the shaggy shingles. A single car with a dent in the tail end and a broken headlight sat against the curb. I eased out of the jeep and approached the vehicle, eyeing the messy interior. Garbage of all kinds were strewn on the floor, including beer cans, and the two front seats looked frequently used. A small car seat was nestled in the backseat.

My conclusion: A couple pulled themselves together to take care of a child they hadn't planned for. Money was tight, mostly assumed because of the condition of the house, car and even the yard. They were new to the whole 'parent' thing, going by the junky interior and strong smell of cigarette smoke, the stains of unknown substances on the seats, even on the baby car seat. Or maybe they just did a lot of thrift store shopping.

Of course, I was assuming. After sitting outside the house for about thirty minutes, I decided to move onto the next address.

The second looked much nicer, with smooth light blue paint covering the sides of the quaint, one story house. A golden retriever watched me from the porch, ears perked. A nice suburban was nestled in the driveway and further inspection proved a relatively clean interior and another car seat in the back. A few hotwheels were wedged in small corners and in the pouches on the backs of the front seats.

The couple, I assumed, were older than the previous. Two kids, and if the hotwheels were any indication, the older was a boy. More average income, I imagined, from the the looks of the car and house. And the dog, who looked to be fed well. Seemed pretty much like apple pies and picket fences for them.

I had been gone for more than an hour by the time I finished.

I pulled my cell out of my pocket as I got back into the wrangler, speed-dialing Sam.

"Dean?"

"Please tell me you've found something."

Sam sighed on the other end before answering. "Nothing worth mentioning. Any word from dad?"

"Nope. Nothin'." I turned the key in the ignition and some of my nerves settled to the sound of the engine running as I pulled back onto the street. "Hey, have you about finished up over there?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"I think I'm gonna join dad. See if he needs help. It beats peeping in random peoples' houses," I added. Sam huffed a laugh.

"Yeah, okay."

I swallowed and cleared my throat, taking a deep breath as I scanned the streets for a familiar black truck.

"Dean, I'll be fine."

Okay, kid's gotta stop mind reading. Considering he was psychic, it was really starting to creep me out.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Goodbye, Sam."

"Bye."

I flipped the phone shut and tossed it between the seats. Something like dread clawed at my stomach, dropping a stone in it and then in my throat.

Hopefully dad had done better than Sam and I.

000

**A/N: Please leave a review and tell me what you think! :) They really help. Like, a lot. Reviews are underrated.**

**Why do you think the demon moved?**

**What about John? What do you think he's planning to do?**

**Last but not least, I always welcome advice on how to write the boys better. Tell me if they do something out of character or anything similar. :)**

**Btw, if you're into hurt!Sam stories, check out my two new fics 'Don't Turn Your Back' and 'Communication'. I'm taking hurt!Sam submissions to keep my writing skills good as I try to get this story going!**

**Thanks, guys. I really appreciate your support. I love you guys! *tosses you licorice***


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SOOO SORRY! Nothing's getting done. I'm reading too much, uuuugh. I'm so sorry. To my followers who put up with me, you have my undying thankfulness. Thank you so much and I'm so sorry this took so long.**

000 1st Person (Sam)

I wiped a hand down my forehead to my eyes, scrubbing the sleep-sand from them with a muffled groan. The precious caffeine high had worn off around thirty minutes before. Research seemed to sap whatever energy I had left, leaving my limbs feeling heavy, even while seated.

I needed sleep.

But I couldn't.

Simple as that, I stood up, grabbed my notes, and strode towards the exit and out into the storm. The droplets of water felt more like icy steel pricking my cheeks and I lifted my hood to cover some of my face. The wind, however, had other ideas and insisted that the hood belonged on my shoulders. After a few failed attempts, I left it there.

The walk to the motel felt a lot longer than it actually was. The cold, the wet, the hunt, all kept my thoughts occupied, swirling together like mixed paint to create a pretty little canvas of black. Different shades, foggy blacks, shiny blacks, and then blacks that swallowed you up and dragged you down to a place where you could never see a light again.

My cell rang.

I looked up to see the front of the long building that was our rally point. Room seventeen.

And dad's truck was parked in front of the room. The impala - no, the jeep; nowhere in sight.

Not significant unless you spotted the two figures moving around inside.

Cellphone forgotten, I took a few quick steps forward before a hot fire poker stabbed through my temple, worming to the space between my eyes until the air left my lungs. Images spun into my vision, spiking more familiar pain into my skull while creating a scene that only I could see.

_Darkness. _

_John jumped to the lightswitch, flipping it up and down a few times until accepting that the bulb in the ceiling wouldn't comply. He clutched the Colt tighter in his right hand. A trembling breath crawled down into his lungs and it sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard in the unnatural quiet of the room._

_A loud enough noise to his ears to prevent him from noticing the figure that appeared behind him, flicking its fingers in the air. John flew into the wall next to the bathroom door, tossed by an unseen force, and he groped for the dropped gun. The force increased until he could feel the pressure threatening to crack bones. _

_With a frustrated growl, he aimed his razor-sharp gaze to the figure in the room - the dark figure, focusing in on its eyes._

_Its yellow eyes._

I crawled out of the vision and back into reality, realizing that cold, wet cement cradled my knees. My hands barely registered the rough ground as they pushed my body vertical, fingers already wobbly limbs, I stumbled to the door and basically embraced it, clutching the silver knob at hip level.

It didn't budge.

I swallowed the surge of dread that dripped into my gut and tried again, only to meet the same conclusion.

The door was locked.

"Dad!" I called, surprised at the desperation that laced the single word. "Dad!?" I weakly pounded my fist against the surface. My chest felt heavy, the feeling having nothing to do with the weight of the soaked clothes over top of me. "Open the door!" I paused and slammed my knuckles on the door again. My knees suddenly buckled, sending me to the doorstep in a heap. Panic wrapped around my heart in a burning ice grip.

"Dad, open-"

The door lurched open, sprawling me onto my side. Shoving the confusion down quickly, I scrambled to my feet and fought the coming fatigue that threatened to pull me under. I should have had another coffee.

The room that met me was dark. And empty.

"Dad?"

The word was barely a whisper; a breath of air to the pattering of precipitation outside. Wavering. Trembling. Nervous. Scared.

I took hesitant steps until I stood in the middle of the room. The still dark room. Unnaturally so. Like the black in my head. The darkness that curled in to a pit that stretched down in eternity, pulling, tugging, dragging me towards it, even with the door wide open, filtering in a dim, gray light. The light couldn't get rid of the darkness. It would disappear too, just like all the other lights.

Something tapped below me, at my feet, similar to the sputtering rain outside, but... heavier. Thicker.

_Oh God._

The noise repeated, but sounded louder than before, grating against my eardrums like a hellhound's howl.

_God, no. No, no, no, no, no!_

The darkness shifted around me. It looked alive, like tar. Bubbling, slithering. I needed a light. But the light from the doorway wouldn't get brighter. It would just go out.

As if on cue, the door slammed shut and the black became impossibly blacker.

The 'stuff' hit the floor in front of me again. I needed a light, but I didn't want to see it. Didn't have to. Didn't need the light on to see the red. The dark red, swimming in the fur of the carpet.

_Don't look up. _

If I didn't look up, the fire wouldn't start. It wouldn't. I looked up with Jess and she had burst into flames. _Just don't look up._ Just don't look up and the fire wouldn't start... right?

_Right? _

Wrong.

I felt the heat before I saw the glow, casting shadows over the room and revealing the three drops of scarlet that stained the floor. Flames lit up the room - lit up my soul. It burned like acid through my veins, but I couldn't move. I couldn't leave.

Not without looking.

I couldn't stop staring at the red, though. It seemed to grow, smothering my eyes until I was swimming in it, choking on it, breathing it, only to shrink back down to the three spots. The three little spots that appeared to dance in the firelight.

Fire.

The room was on _fire._

It happened too fast. Too fast for me to stop it. I looked up.

I looked up and saw brown eyes staring back at me

"_DAD!_"

The scream ripped from my chest unwillingly, tearing through the eerie silence of the hellish flames as they ate up the room. This was not the kind of light that I wanted. The dark was better than this.

I couldn't see anything else besides his eyes, dark and dead. _Dead. _

I coughed, belatedly realizing that I was still yelling, repeating his name in a vain attempt to get to him. Save him.

And I couldn't stop coughing.

My injured ribs screamed in protest to the abuse, making me lightheaded. Or was that the smoke?

I struggled to breathe and then something slammed into my right side and the floor was inches from my face. Did something hit me? No... It was the floor. I... fell?

Dizziness blurred my vision, making my head spin, but I shakily got to my hands and knees. My fingers brushed against something hard and familiar and I grabbed it. The Colt.

I needed out.

It was too hot.

Out.

Too bright.

Now.

It was burning.

Out, out, out, out -

Too hot, too hot -

Now, now, now -

Too bright, too bright -

Get me out now -

Burning, burning, burning -

_Too much fire._

It was devouring the room, engulfing the walls, the floor, the ceiling - _God,_ the ceiling - and only got hotter, brighter, faster, with each grain of wallpaper.

_Too. Much. Fire. _

I could pretend that I was only talking about the motel room.

My eyes watered as I crawled blindly across the floor. The door was... No... it was over -

_Too hot, too hot, too bright, burning -_

His eyes. I could still feel them staring straight into the back of my head. But that was wrong. His body was gone. Reduced to ashes because -

_Too bright, burning, too hot, burning, burning cold, hell, Lucifer, the cage -_

I.

A part of the ceiling in the corner collapsed, sending sparks to singe my hair, but it was already singed.

Needed.

My un-injured palm landed on something hot. I let out a surprised yelp and jerked away from the fuzzy orange shape that was to my right, continuing forward towards what I hoped was the door.

Out.

A high-pitched wailing caught my attention, but they were faint. Distant. _Too. Freaking. Far. _

His eyes. Dark, dead, but warm. Warm brown.

Gray hovered on the frame of my eyes, seeming to leech the other colors out of my surroundings. I needed air. I realized I was still coughing. The gray darkened, too close to the dark black. The dark black in my head. In the motel room. No, the room was too bright. Too light. _Too hot._

His eyes were dead.

The dark gray swirled into the rest of my sight and I listed forward onto the floor.

At least they weren't yellow.

000

**A/N: Yes, this is short. But it was kind of impossible to avoid, seeing as Sammy here passed out. But I did like how it turned out, even if it's short.**

**I AM EVEN MORE SORRY CAUSE THIS CHAPTER HOLDS SADNESS. Unless your the type of fan who doesn't like John. Then this is a happy chapter for you.**

**Please leave a review. Hopefully they can get me up off my butt to writing again. **

**Anyways, thanks guys SOOO much if you're still reading this. Love you all!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I think this story is officially on pause right now. I know, I feel so bad, I'm just so busy, and when I d have time to write, I've overwhelmed with all these plot bunnies, so I need to prioritize which stories I will write and which will be put on hold. Since this was basically my first multi-fic and I haven't updated in a while, this is gonna be one I'm shutting down for the meantime.**

**Again, I am so so so so SOO sosososososOSOSOSOSOSOSOOOO sorry! All of you, I'm sorry, I'm just... being drowned in all these plot bunnies and holiday rush.**

**Thank you for your support so far, it is VERY appreciated. 3 Love you guys and I AM SORRY.**


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